The Pride of the Wounded
by Voyna
Summary: Rotting away in one of Amegakure's makeshift prison towers, he got an offer he could not refuse. As a result, accused of a crime he did not commit, he had to flee, picking up a Hyūga strategist and a high-society lady on his road to power. Their common goal? Revenge. Their fiercest enemy? Passion.
1. Paltry Tricks

**[A/N] I was calmly writing the next chapter to** _ **The Forsaken Heirs**_ **. Going about my business. That's when, falling from the skies, Hyūga Tokuma kicked in the door to my imagination and bitch-slapped my inspiration. He came up with a plot. He came up with an idea. He wanted to fucking shine. I tried to refuse. Do I look like a slave?! That's when Sasuke, who had been intently listening to Tokuma's exposé, put a kunai right under my hypothalamus's throat. Hinata tried to console me. But of course, she yielded to the entreaties of the two gentlemen. I got the message. I'll try to keep the chapters as short as humanly possible.**

 **The Pride of the Wounded**

 _Chapter 1_

Paltry Tricks

 _By_

 _Voyna_

He brought the sleeve of his coat to his nose. Which wasn't his, _per se_. Nor was the coat, for that matter.

The art of illusion had always fascinated him. When he had examined himself in a mirror, he had seen a woman. A known woman. And when he had touched the skin of her pale throat, he had felt the caress of his fingers.

There were some things _shinobi_ never truly got accustomed to in their line of work. For some, they could simply not master the art of _taijutsu_. And thus, the fluidity of movements, the precision of a stroke from a Hyūga's hand earned the said clan an almost religious adulation amongst a class of _ninja_. In the case of most, they were mediocre at _ninjutsu_. Therefore, seeing Maito Gai's Tenten producing all sorts of small weapons from her pouches and palliating with strong explosives her lack of _chakra_ was fearsome to those that relied only on their reserves of energy. And of course, there were narrow-minded, obtuse people even among the _shinobi_ ranks. The very idea of _genjutsu_ must have given those poor chaps a headache.

Finally, there was one last class of people. Those like him that were talented at everything. That shone in any discipline. And that were far from intellectually inflexible. It was not misplaced arrogance or self-praise that made him think so highly of himself. It was a fact he belonged to that last class. He wouldn't have made it as far as he had had it been otherwise.

All in all, he used _genjutsu_. Excelled at it when the need arose. And yet, felt a certain disgust at these types of paltry tricks. However, the _Sharingan_ demanded it.

Squinting, he wondered at the difference between the _Sharingan_ and the common eye. Whereas his _Sharingan_ hadadapted immediately to the darkness of the hallways he was walking through, his other eye had all the difficulties in the world to make out the shadows that fluttered over the oozing stone walls at either side of him.

 _Ame no Kuni_ truly was a disgusting country to live in. A sneer distorted his or the woman's mouth, as one pleased, for a split of an instant. A useless country, truly. The weather made it impossible to partake in the _noble_ art of agriculture. The unyielding rain made every plant rot in the seed. One would have thought rice would have thrived in such conditions. Nothing was farther from the truth. _Ame_ 's soil was like its rain, acid and poisonous.

The difficult task of finding a use, any use, for this expanse of garbage, had befallen him. Of course. After the war, the dictator finally killed and the last beloved leader long buried, there had been none to take care of the country. And, as _Oto_ , it had become one of _Hi no Kuni_ 's, one could freely say _Konoha_ 's, military protectorates.

And in his great magnanimity, _Hi no Kuni_ 's _daimyō_ had installed its most hardened mercenaries in _Amegakure_ , exported all the native populations and spread them out through the world, with little attention to families remaining together, and simply dumped the heavy load on his faithful executor, on his obedient dog's head.

It was virtually impossible for a dog to make the world comprehend the greatness of a scheme that had started in genocide. Because this poor dog himself did not see much greatness in it. However, it was the burden he had accepted to shoulder. And thus, brandishing bombastic words such as _freedom_ , _security_ , _national interests_ and counting on human greed which was truly the only thing one could fully and firmly rely on, he had, in the _daimyō_ 's name, transformed _Amegakure_ into a city-prison for the most hated criminals.

Had he mentioned of late how little taste he had for paltry tricks?

A small spasm under his right eye was enough to make the guard marching in front of him, a retired _ANBU_ that had been thrown away like trash as soon as he had reached the venerable age of thirty, turn his head. He knew the woman walking behind him by name. However, he had never had the chance to be further acquainted with her. And as the good Cerberus that he was, even though she had carried a letter signed by the _Hōkage_ himself, even though he had uncovered with ease all the small security devices the scroll had been filled with, he could not feel at ease with her trailing him.

There was something cold and calculating, calm and composed about that woman. And to be honest, the first time he had seen her in his life, she had appeared nor calm nor calculated. In fact, the promise of a cunning spirit that shone through her washed-out, lilac eyes was a novelty he, _ANBU_ that he had been, could swear had not been there before.

Little did he know his suspicion, which the woman, or whatever that the being was, noticed, was gaining him some respect in her eyes. In fact, respect towards a man spending his life in the stench of stagnant air and mostly dying prison inmates should have been a granted thing. It often wasn't.

"How well is he guarded?"

Her voice was deep and rough. However, the way she spoke did not match its timber. She spoke as someone full of sense. There might have even been some subtle playfulness hiding behind the simple words she had uttered. Again, the image the ward had of her did not match the voice. Nonetheless, he answered. Prepared as he was to parry any attacks that might have crossed her mind.

"Twenty-four seven surveillance. Solitary confinement with the exception of three wards at all time with him in the cell. _Chakra_ -activity monitoring. Movement detectors. Cell right beside the wards' chambers."

The woman slowly nodded her attractive head, absently looking at the stone walls. The place truly reeked. It was cold and insalubrious. Few inmates lasted longer than a year or two before coming down with pneumonia or other infections. There had been an outbreak of tuberculosis of late, due mostly to the inadequate food the prisoners were fed. And since the medical system _Ame_ enjoyed was to say the least primitive, the sick prisoners had seen their end come slightly faster than expected and their bodies and possessions (if the rags they wore could be called possessions) burned.

But there was one man that stubbornly clung to life and did not seem to plan dying anytime soon.

"How effective is that system against him?"

The ward's shoulders tensed and he turned his head away, staring at the hole of darkness in front of them. Yeah, well, it wasn't his fucking fault. He did with what he got. Ibiki-san's little inspector could very well quote him on this.

"He pisses a little harder against the walls of his cell and the tower is reduced to rubbles. How about that?"

As expected. He could have broken out. He pissed a little harder against the walls of his cell and it wouldn't be this makeshift prison that would be reduced to rubbles. But the whole country. He had proven he could do as much. And knowing him, he wouldn't shy away from doing even more.

Pensively chewing at her lower lip, the woman let the guard guide her through multiple doors, all fit with sophisticated locking systems and expensive recognition devices. Heh. So much money invested in keeping criminals behind thick, stone walls.

While most developed countries, as they liked to refer to themselves, still relied on the free labor of serfs to uphold their economic systems.

While barely a few tens of kilometers from _Konoha_ there was a forest in which starving parents would hang their children from the highest branches before following them in death.

While twelve-year olds were sent to war, their youthful naivety exploited and their innocence sullied with demagogy.

During that time, _Hi no Kuni_ 's _daimyō_ would spend his summers in his personal resort by _Kirigakure_ 's sea. And he himself, not hidden behind the likeness of a well-known woman as he was at that instant, would sit in the _Konoha_ 's highest tower, looking down on the world that had been thrust into his unwilling hands.

Nausea overtook him. But his step did not betray his trouble. Long ago had he lost this ability (because it truly was an ability) to let his feelings overpower his body. He didn't know when his body had started overpowering his feelings. Better to say he didn't remember it because it went back to his infancy most probably.

A strange sensation coiled in his stomach as he finally saw two guards standing, their legs apart, their hands behind their backs, in front of a small, iron door. To get in or out, one had to squat low. The two wards were tall, strong and he recognized them easily. _ANBU_. Not retired _ANBU_ but _ANBU_. Not too young to be inexperienced. Not too old to be insufficient.

Their eyes shone through their masks. Shone with resentment. They had been sacrificed, their souls screamed. And indeed. So much talent left to rot behind the high walls of _Ame no Kuni_. Their wives abandoned, their children left to grow wild. Another sardonic rictus pulled at the woman's lips. Yes, the state of the affairs under his responsibility disgusted him. But he disgusted himself even more, revolted as he was. After all, he had been the one to handpick and assign them to the task.

As they came closer, one of the two _ANBU_ lifted his hand. The other let his arms drop to his sides, flexing his fingers. This would get awkward. The woman had to do her best to stifle a snicker.

"Mitarashi-san, with all due respect, we'll have to pat you down."

If Anko had known he was about to let someone get a feel of her breasts (well, not truly hers), she would have murdered him. Actually, if ever she got wind he had stolen some of her clothes and messed around with the inspection date, she would castrate him, he could guarantee. Pity, he better not ever let her mouth come close to his dick again. A tough life he was leading.

The guard that had guided him stepped aside. Even though, they had been wearing masks, their eyes trailing down to the imitation of Anko's breasts did not go unnoticed by him. If there was someone that understood you, boys, it was him. She didn't wear anything underneath that damn mesh-top. And her long, heavy canvas coat didn't do much to cover anything about her. Neither did the short skirt.

Heck, had he gone sexless for months as they must have (unless they had discovered a long-hidden attraction to members of their sex; he had made sure no women would ever guard the inmate behind that small door, he was poison to women), his hands would have shaken as well at the idea of getting a feel of a _real_ female body.

Hence, not wishing to rob them of this little joy, he obediently lifted Anko's arms and indifferently abandoned her to the hands of the two _ANBU_. However, they were professionals. They had said they would pat her down. And that is all they did. They tapped here and there, their palms barely remaining for a split of a second on a particular part of her anatomy.

However, something attracted their attention. Something hard. She had been divested of all weapons and unnecessary belongings, they knew. They could only imagine it to be scroll they had felt under their palms.

Taking a step back, one of them resumed his military pose while the other, bowing respectfully, demanded to see what it was that she had in one of her coat's inner pockets. Without a complaint, her hand disappeared under the folds of her coat, revealing for a split of a second a ripe breast only protected by a weak mesh-top. However, even that mere pleasure was of short duration, and the two _ANBU_ turned their heads away from the woman, as if worried she could see their blush under their masks.

Anko's likeness extended the hand holding the scroll. But none of the two of them took it from her. Scared it would bite them?

"Mitarashi-san, please unlock the scroll and show us both sides."

With how dark it was in that narrow hallway, they wouldn't be able to read a thing without lightening or fire _jutsu_. He was willing to humor them. Swiftly, her fingers flying about the scroll, small sparks of _chakra_ leaving her hands, the scroll was unlocked and in one movement of her wrist, it rolled down to the floor. The _ANBU_ scanned the scrolls, not able to read a thing. She turned it around. They got a good look at the other side. It obviously wasn't imbibed in _chakra_ and did not give off the stench of explosive. Good enough for them.

To be honest, for all they cared, she could have brought in a small artillery and they would have let her pass. Because, the man they were guarding just had to blow their way, and they were doomed. It wasn't worth being delusional about it. Just that, there was something to be said about the _ANBU_ _taisa_ screwing a metal stick up yours. They couldn't _not_ be anal about security, even though it was a loss of their time in this instance.

Again, a flick of Anko's wrist was enough to make the scroll roll up by itself. A stern nod from the _ANBU_ announced they were all clear. A thump on the small door and it was thrown open.

Finally, the show was on.

One of the _ANBU_ squatted down, passed his head through the aperture and in a stern, commanding voice, announced Mitarashi Anko-san. Some shifting on the other side of the door. The squatting man removed himself and motioned with his head to the opening.

"You are going in by yourself, Mitarashi-san. There are three guards waiting inside."

She, or he, or whatever he was at the moment (he was getting confused himself), nodded her … his … its head. Walked towards the door, squatted down and shifting from one foot to the other, passed into the cell.

To be welcomed by three giants. Again, he had been the one to handpick them.

"Mitarashi-san," one of them greeted.

He stood up. Looked them up and down. Looked around himself. The cell was worse than what he had imagined. The same oozing stones as walls. A bucket in a corner. Most probably for when the inmate had to relieve himself. However, what surprised him the most was the smell. The stench that had welcomed him as he had walked past the cells of the lesser criminals had made bile rush into his mouth.

No such stench filled his nostrils now. There was a disagreeable odor of mould, yes. Of wet straw as well. Wet earth. Stagnant air.

But not of dirty bodies. Of excrement and urine. Of rotting food.

Oh, of course, the guards, even though they were _ANBU_ , had tried to treat the inmate as a mere criminal. Half-expecting he would shorten their suffering if they pushed him to insanity. One way to ensure insanity in an animal was to make it live in its own excrements and urine. The same could be said about the average inmate.

Their own prisoner had an advantage. He had them at a desirable distance. Hence, when they had refused to get rid of his feces and bodily fluids, he had pulled up the rags he used to conceal his ass. He'd grabbed onto the bucket he had defiled previously. And covered the three guards with its contents. All that with only one arm.

Since that day, when he was done eating, or when he wished to be spared from the ordeal of bringing prison food (if whatever they served them could be called food) to his lips, he had his guards getting rid of whatever was left behind. When he was done having a piss or a dump, the shit (aptly named) disappeared. The straw he slept on was changed regularly. He didn't care much about sleeping on wet straw. Finally, he demanded to be watered daily. Like a plant. And he couldn't care less whether the water was ice cold. Their inmate was, in other words, a dandy. He also washed the cell. And his rags. Used _chakra_ to dry them. And never as much as made an attempt to harm them. Or even to speak to them.

The animal had trained the men. And it had trained them well. Or in military language, whomever it was that inhabited this small ground-zero was a first-class arsewipe.

Anko approached the guards and by an elegant movement of the hand, so uncommon to her, she demanded they moved to the side and let her pass. They did as bid. Remaining close by. Yes, their prisoner was of a calm, temperate nature. However, one did not know when the savage beast would be awakened in his bosom. And for having seen it up close three years ago, they did not wish to have Mitarashi Anko-san, as dangerous as she could be herself, exposed to any menace in their presence. Mostly because it would not look good on their resume.

And there he was. Seated on a bundle of straw. His right elbow taking support on a raised knee and his chin resting on his palm. How much he had changed. How little he had changed. Through a thick mane of black hair that had grown long, cold obsidian eyes shone. His skin was paler than ever. Proof he didn't play hooky when he was supposed to be grounded. A lump formed in the woman's throat as her eyes trailed down his maimed left arm. Or what remained of it.

One thing that surprised was how toned his body, bear from the neck down to the waist, had remained. Actually that wo–, ma– … that thing that was standing in front of him had walked in on him training. And if there was one thing he fucking hated was when one of his sessions was interrupted.

His ass seated on the shit he used as a bed, he couldn't believe how much of a carnival his life had become. And why?! Just because he had tried to invade a few countries and mostly failed because he had been a seventeen-year old snot that hadn't known half of what he knew now?! Did that truly deserve having a transvestite coming to disturb the peaceful little nest he had created himself?! Why hadn't they executed him?! It would have been more humane, goddammit.

Yep. The inmate in question was no other than the little bitch _par excellence_. A deadly little bitch whom no one would have poked with a stick, mind you. And who only bitched with his eyes and a great variety of expressions of dislike. You had the choice between _tch_ and _hn_. Your pick.

The prisoner's lips quivered in disgust.

"Tch", was the only thing he could come up with in such a situation.

Tilting her head to the side and letting a subtle smile pull at her lips, Anko (let's just call it Anko for now, as a show of respect towards the poor prisoner's own confusion) examined the seated form. Let her cold gaze run down his chest. There was nothing feminine about that look. Nothing of the admiration a woman could not fail to feel when looking at his body.

"I am happy to see you too, Uchiha-san", she purred mockingly.

His name in that mouth sounded like an insult spat his way. The muscles of his abdomen contracted unwillingly. And the guards felt his nervousness, tightening their position behind Mitarashi Anko's back. Knowing full well that if Uchiha Sasuke decided to attack, they would not be able to defend themselves, let alone her.

Turning her head, Anko pinned them with her expressionless eyes. Nothing like Mitarashi Anko's blazing, active gaze.

"Leave me alone with Uchiha-san."

Those words had not been spoken as a demand but a command. The guards tensed immediately. And their unwillingness to leave was clearly visible in how stubbornly they set their jaws. But that did not faze her. One bit.

"The faster I am done with him, the faster you can have him back."

The rude undertone made more than one grind their molars. Uchiha Sasuke was only left to roll his eyes. That dickhead was truly something else. He had hoped he wouldn't have to put up with the likes of him ever again. Especially after the asshole had ascended to power. Nothing was that easy in life, was it?!

Grudgingly, the guards started retreating towards the small door at the other side of the cell.

"If he gets aggressive, you just holler, Mitarashi-san."

A snort escaped her. As if they would be able to do much if Sasuke got aggressive. Mind you, she was sure she would be able to master him. How many times had she (okay, it was getting weird referring to himself as _her_ , it even gave him the creeps) thought so before!

As the small gates were locked, leaving her with Uchiha Sasuke, Anko cracked her shoulders as if she were uncomfortable. Looked around herself some more. Before turning her eyes back to him.

Squatting down, tilting her head to the side, she extended her hand as if wishing to caress the prisoner's head. He was not naïve to believe it to be the case. Hence, when those long, feminine fingers grabbed a handful of his hair, Sasuke's mouth didn't even distort in a show of pain. Jerking his head back, she tried to convey contempt with her glare. And failed at it miserably. Shards of affection, of broken memories remained, shining through her false exterior.

Sasuke smelled them out like the bloodhound that he was. The smallest weakness where he was concerned could cost one. Haruno Sakura knew as much. And had Uzumaki Naruto been able to learn a lesson, he would have known so as well.

"How low you have fallen", the woman whispered.

It should have been an insult, but it made the Uchiha smirk in ease.

"Hn."

He had not fallen so low as to steal his whore's clothes … and exterior appearance. All that to be able to flee his prison for a few instants. That small tug at the corner of his lips said it all. And irked Anko beyond anything bearable. He would never change.

Three years spent in a humid, seedy cell could not break him. Mostly because he stayed there by choice. He could leave, he could run. Uchiha Sasuke simply chose not to. One big stone, torn out of the walls, lied by his bed of straw. It was easily imaginable what he used it for. Support when he did push-ups, his legs high up in the air, his back straight as an arrow. In equilibrium on only one arm. Kettle-bell when he chose to strengthen his legs. Weight when he wanted to add a little bit of muscle mass to his body. And nothing but silence surrounding him.

That silence he had always yearned for. That silence he had cherished. That silence that had made him delusional in the end. At least, so those closest to him had believed. Silence had been an acid corroding his mind. Funny how Naruto's senseless jabbering and Sakura's annoying attempts to interact with him had not helped his case. But not one bit.

Motioning with her head to the ceiling, she asked him whether there were any microphones attached to the _chakra_ -monitoring cameras that could be found at every corner.

"You should know that better than anyone", was his mocking reply.

One would have expected speech impairment from a man so little versed in the art of conversation as was Uchiha Sasuke. And yet, he spoke with no difficulty. His mind was all that he had ever needed. His conceit had made him his favored interlocutor.

Turning her eyes back to him, aware that there would be no microphones in the cell since the thoughts and ideas of a delusional criminal would be of no interest to anyone, she whispered in a languorous voice:

"Is this how you welcome your former _sensei_? I would have expected more warmth from you, Sasuke."

The fuck he would have. The last time they had seen each other, the cocksucker had condemned Sasuke to life in prison. His first act of greatness as _Hōkage_ , eh? Some won the people over with clemency. Others chose on the contrary to instill fear as soon as they got the smallest sliver of power.

He could have set him free. He could have let him depart. In the end, after all his failures, after all his desperate attempts to give a future to a world that was doomed to collapse on itself, precipitated into doom by human greed, the only thing Uchiha Sasuke had wished had been peace.

And honestly speaking, he had gotten it. In a very restrictive way.

The reproach that shone through the Uchiha's eyes, as dark as a sinner's soul, was not lost on his former _sensei_ 's part. His former _sensei_ , present _Hōkage_ and at the moment transvestite and thief. Finally, Hatake Kakashi, having stolen his … what Anko was to him was not exactly clear, even to him, the sex was good and she hated labels hence … not the point. Finally, Hatake Kakashi having stolen a woman's appearance and clothes was allowed to be referred to with his born gender. He was a _he_ , fully and totally, thank you.

"If you hate it so much, why do you not leave?"

Kakashi was retaking the upper hand with these few words. Oh, he could still read Sasuke enough. He had known an Uchiha before. As different as the two of them were, there were some common traits that were characteristic to all Uchiha. You knew one, you knew them all. Exactly like Hyūga. That knowledge had always put Kakashi at somewhat of an advantage. Even though he had started to need some reading glasses.

"I will tell you why."

Removing his hand from Sasuke's head, he looked at dark locks falling back over the Uchiha's obsidian eyes. The eyes of an eagle. Intelligent. Ominous. Primitive. And blazing with an all-consuming fire.

"You could leave now without being seen. Without being felt. You could disappear in thin air from this cell. From this tower. From this country. And if you did so, what would happen? I would unleash my _ANBU_ onto you. For the form."

The young man's chiseled mouth, that had made more than one little girl sigh in desire, distorted in an expression of hatred.

"You would kill them. And I would send more to you. You would kill them too. _Mizu_ , _Rai_ , _Kaze_ would send you their men. You would have to get rid of them just as much. _Oto_ is now _Hi no Kuni_ 's protectorate. _Yu_ has been toppled. _Kusa_ is as flat as a plate. I cannot imagine you being welcome in _Tetsu_. And _Shimo_ would conceal you at best for a few months."

A growl almost escaped Uchiha Sasuke's lips. He restrained it _in extremis_. Yes, he was an eagle. An imprisoned eagle.

"Do you understand now what your actions have brought upon you? Have I not warned you throughout your adolescence about the choices you were making?! Wherever you would go, you would be viewed as a nuisance. As a prey of sorts. And doomed to become even more of a reviled criminal at each one of your steps. You would only rouse fear and hatred in the hearts of your contemporaries. "

Well, now Sasuke understood why the asshole had become _Hōkage_. He loved to listen to himself talk. He'd just used _contemporaries_ in a sentence, for fuck's sake. Hadn't it been for that word, Sasuke might have actually considered accelerating the process of becoming a … what was it? Reviled criminal? By significantly reducing the _Hōkage_ 's lifespan.

But Kakashi wasn't done with him just yet. He had a few more things to say. Strangely, in the last three years, his clear-sightedness where his former students were concerned had started weakening. A few years back, when his one and only duty had been to lead them on the path of righteousness, he had felt there was not one emotion they could conceal from him. He wasn't so sure what to make of Sasuke's prying, surgical stare. As empty as a bottomless pit.

Kakashi's own ambitions had dulled most of his innate aptitudes. That and the compromises he had started making. Condoning inherent evil for the common good. A dangerous game he was playing. Having seen so many before him getting burned by the fire they had fed themselves, one would have thought he would have shied away from such methods. But, just like them, he had understood there was no alternative. You had to gamble. To play high.

He had not come as a _sensei_ to Uchiha Sasuke, no. He had not come to visit his former pupil, moved by a paternal feeling of culpability at his demise. No, he had come as a man just as desperate to save the world as Sasuke had been a few years ago. And to succeed in the task, this _Hōkage_ , as all the previous _Hōkage_ , was willing to sacrifice what he held most precious. His family.

That paternal feeling of culpability beat strong in his heart. Just that it was not due to his pupil's demise. But to the fact that Kakashi himself would put a blindfold over Sasuke's eyes and lead him towards destruction. And as a man who had decided upon one course of action, he was ruthless till the very end, begging the gods, begging Uchiha Obito and Itachi to forgive him.

But the belief the three years Uchiha Sasuke had spent in idleness might be putting him at a disadvantage facing Uzumaki Naruto did substantially alleviate Kakashi's grief. Naruto could be manipulated. One just had to use Haruno Sakura. She could be just as ruthless as Kakashi himself. Just with more ethics, which in itself was an advantage for Kakashi. Uchiha Sasuke's death would be fast and painless. Wasn't that, in the end, what any man, any _shinobi_ wished for? And yet so few of them saw that wish granted.

He would make sure that if nothing else, Uchiha Sasuke would, without knowing, realize one of his dreams. He would save the world. Just not in the way he had imagined. Swallowing all the contempt towards himself that burned his throat, Hatake Kakashi pushed aside his individuality and became the faceless, the nameless bearer of the title of _Hōkage_.

"The truth, Sasuke, is that this artificial peace you have created yourself does not satisfy you. It keeps you from seeing Naruto and Sakura, fair enough. They are after all the wretched proofs of your failure. But not only that. You cannot face them because all the pain they had to bear in your name has not ended with your _redemption_. It is in fact the very idea of your redemption that tortures them, isn't it? You who in the end did redeem for your crimes are closed up in a cage. Like a vulgar pigeon. Tell me, was it worth it? Was it worth serving Uchiha Madara's, your own kin's, head on a silver platter to the world? Ever wondered whether your brother thought it worth where your family was concerned?"

In a movement so swift Kakashi barely saw it, Sasuke's hand shot out, aiming for a woman's white throat. His old _sensei_ might have become a bureaucrat, spending his days with his ass seated on a leather armchair. But he still had killer reflexes. Sasuke's palm collided with what was supposed to be Anko's. The woman's fine, long fingers intertwined with the attacker's in no time. Deepening the connection between two men that could have been close had circumstances not decided otherwise.

The surge of _chakra_ that ran through Kakashi's left arm was of such amplitude that he momentarily lost control of his own _tenketsu_. Little did he know he should have thanked Sasuke for so much aggression. The pure energy that emanated from his former pupil disturbed the _chakra_ and motion-monitors for a split of an instant. Coinciding with Kakashi's front crumbling.

Regaining control over himself, he stabilized the persona of Mitarashi Anko. And although his arm was numb and the _tenketsu_ from his pinky finger all the way up to his shoulder were already distended beyond the laws of physics, he did his best to push Sasuke's energy back to its source. He was straining the _tenketsu_ in his chest and back in the process.

Kakashi's pulse picked up. His heart's pace became erratic. And he couldn't take a normal breath. All of his energy, whether physical or intellectual, was channelled into not having his façade slip. And battling his former pupil's invading assault.

He could already feel his muscle convulsing. Then rigidifying frighteningly. So this is what dying of tetanus felt like? Thanks to Uchiha Sasuke, Kakashi finally knew what all those peasants and civilians from _Oto_ had felt when _Konoha_ had invaded and they had been forced to flee over fields and mounts. The border with _Yu no Kuni_ had been strewn with their starved, and at times infected, carcasses. Undertaker teams had been dispatched. Kakashi had only heard in the aftermath of the scenes they had beheld. However, during silent nights, seated in his dark offices, the images of childlike corpses came to haunt him.

Leaning in, his dark eyes visible through strands of his hair, Uchiha Sasuke made Kakashi feel what thousands of people before him had felt. He made him feel the soft breath of death fawning over his lips. And it was deeply terrifying.

So close to the old cocksucker as he was, Sasuke could see Obito's _Sharingan_ appearing through flashes in the lilac hue of his _sensei_ 's disguise eyes. This sight induced him to activate his own _Dōjutsu_. What had been pitch-black became blood red. And the _tomoe_ , the devil's tears, bloomed in the midst of Uchiha Sasuke's own eyes.

His lips parted. His canines, white and trenchant as those of Inuzuka, glistened even though there was no light in his cell. The words he uttered reverberated through Kakashi's whole body.

"What the fuck do you want?", he hissed.

He had a snake's tongue. Something he had inherited from Orochimaru, no doubt. Kakashi would have answered had it not implied revealing his identity to the whole prison tower, through the cameras filling the damn cell. He could not maintain the _genjutsu_ he was using and … remain alive, pretty much.

Sasuke knew so. And he relished it. He relished this show of power. He wanted Hatake Kakashi, former _sensei_ , _Hōkage_ and whatever else he was, to understand one time and for all that the old Sasuke, that kid that had ranked last in assertiveness, was fucking dead. And that there was nothing, nothing at all in this world, that would make him revert back to that lost, frightened boy who cried for his brother to come take him away.

Once he was sure he had impressed that fact upon Kakashi, Sasuke decided he could cut him some slack. He hadn't even used one hundredth of his power. And yet, looking at the man who was _Hōkage_ , who was the main god of a pantheon Sasuke had wanted to invade, taking in deep, desperate breathes, made satisfaction spread throughout his whole body. One could be considered the greatest man of a nation and not come to scratch where Uchiha Sasuke was considered.

A satisfied smirk, the first in so many years, appeared on Sasuke's lips. It was a measly pleasure, sure. But I was still worth savouring. And it rendered him almost complacent. The fingers that had compulsively been grabbing Kakashi's relaxed. And let the _Hōkage_ 's arm limply fall to his side. His former _sensei_ 's other hand shot out and grabbed onto the abused arm. It didn't do much to stop blood flowing down from his shoulder to his fingers. The pain that resulted was so sharp that he blanched. It was even visible through his mask.

Amused to the utmost for the first time in a long while, the Uchiha arrogantly kicked his chin up, raised a mocking, a demanding eyebrow and observed the suffering man in front of him through his long eyelashes.

Kakashi might have been the _Hōkage_ … but he would have exchanged the very arm Uchiha Sasuke had abused for the privilege of giving him a well-deserved beating. Oh, he wasn't delusional to believe himself a match to the oh-so-amazing Avenger. However, he still managed to catch Uzumaki Naruto off-guard and clip him behind the head with a hard object. If only he could have done the same to Sasuke now … But no.

His functional hand disappeared under the folds of Anko's long coat and retrieved the scroll that had attracted so much attention beforehand. Tossing it in the air, he looked at Sasuke catching it indifferently. And certainly not going through the trouble of opening it. However, there was something else that Kakashi had not considered. Sasuke had had a very active life. And he might not have had the chance to read as much as was necessary to maintain a proficiency in the domain. The thought did not cross his mind and he simply assumed he was being an arrogant dick as was his habit.

"What would you say, Sasuke, if I had come to redress all the wrongs?"

Leaning in, Kakashi observed the young man from under his own, grey eyelashes, trying to gauge his mood. With Sasuke it could go either way. He could accept without being pressed. As much as he could send you to go fuck yourself. He was hot, then he was cold. You never knew what end was up and what end down with the likes of him. You had to gamble. Uchiha Sasuke himself was a gambler. And ever since he had left Orochimaru's _protection_ , he had played and lost big. He was tired. And disappointed. And wanted out.

If there was one person that understood Sasuke, it was Kakashi. First hand. One was willing to sacrifice the last bits of his humanity to save the world from its own ruin. One was willing to become a reviled dictator to unify warring countries. One was willing to sin, to lap up all the mud between _Kaze_ and _Rai no Kuni_ for a shot at creating a world where peace among humans and countries existed, even if that implied a state of ongoing war, cruel but necessary contradiction.

One was willing to live an eternity of lonely suffering. For the common good.

However, all these wishes, all these sacrifices are based on the idea that the human is inherently good and that he tends towards peace. The mistake Uchiha Sasuke, young, idealistic had made, even if he had believed otherwise. Humans were inherently evil. Sasuke had believed he had known as much and Kakashi could tell him he had been wrong. Humans would be willing to suffer losses of the greatest amplitude themselves if they could be ensured that their neighbors would at least sustain a scratch.

Had Uchiha Sasuke succeeded in establishing his reign of terror, he would have seen the _Raikage_ knocking at his front door. With gifts and sugary-sweet words aplenty. And more than willing to hit a deal that would imply _Konoha_ 's falling into further disgrace. The model of unity against dictatorship never worked. But never.

Kakashi was not young and naïve anymore. And the mistakes of judgement Sasuke had made would not have been forgivable in him. He was not interested in uprooting the _effect_ or _consequence_ , as one wished. He desired to destroy the _cause_. The origin. He desired not to fortify the system by promoting cooperation. On the contrary, he desired to tear the structure down.

And for that to occur, the corner stone had to be blasted. How tired Kakashi was. He wondered in this instance, looking into Sasuke's red eyes, whether he too had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Whether he too had tasted the bitterness of knowing one had to do unforgivable evil for good to have an opportunity to blossom. Had Sasuke been better at reading the eyes of his interlocutors, he might have seen how violently Kakashi, his former _sensei_ , his mentor, was begging to be forgiven for what he was about to do.

"You wish freedom. I can give you freedom. I can erase your very existence from _Konoha_ 's annals. One word from me, and the world will believe Uchiha Sasuke has died of tuberculosis in one of _Ame no Kuni_ 's prison towers. And his corpse burned to avoid further spreading of the disease. If you are smart enough, and I do have respect for your intellectual abilities, Sasuke, you will keep from rekindling with the likes of Karin, Suigetsu and Jūgo."

A flash of rage passing through the young man's eyes informed Kakashi that he had been heard. And well understood. And he did well to respect Sasuke's intellectual abilities. He might have been young, but he was not stupid enough to believe the man who had gotten him a life-sentence (little did he know how much Kakashi had had to battle, and against whom, for Uchiha Sasuke not to be executed).

He locked him up in a dump for three years. And then threw the doors wide open and let him depart?! Yeah, right. Nothing was free in this world. That much Sasuke had learned. He'd learned it the hard way, too. Plus, to be honest, there was something humiliating in the idea that he would have to hide for the rest of his life. Mind you, he would have had to hide either way to avoid having Naruto and Sakura to shoving their big muzzles up his ass, as had been their habit. And it's not like he hadn't done so before. For years.

"Oh, you are right", Kakashi whispered smilingly.

"Nothing is for free in this world. Orochimaru taught you as much, didn't he?"

Like, what was Sasuke supposed to do to teach the asshole a lesson that he would understand?! He had to bring up Itachi and Orochimaru. Maybe if Sasuke tore his jawbone out? Maybe that would be a message the _Hōkage_ would get, huh?! For fuck's sake.

Seeing Sasuke more than willing to give him a repeat of that scene where he tries to make his heart explode from the inside out, Kakashi decided to cut it to the chase.

"Kill one man. And you are free."

Sure, bro', 'cause Sasuke took requests. He just went about asking the first cocksucker whom he wanted to see dead. Took out his sword. And there we go. Heck, after all the people he'd killed, one more or one less didn't really make a difference, ah?!

He wasn't taking him seriously one bit. As soon as he'd said those three magical words, the atmosphere had lightened considerably. Kakashi felt like he'd just avoided getting torn into pieces by a horde of wild boars. Tilting his head to the side, he examined how from red, Sasuke's eyes slowly darkened and became black again. Removing his arm from his knee, the young man simply let his back slide against the cold, wet stones of his cell. He threw the scroll he'd been giving up in the air, caught it and repeated the motion. Looking at Kakashi as if he'd just said something so utterly retarded that laughing about it would be superfluous.

"I didn't expect you to agree without a reason", Sasuke's former _sensei_ stated, shrugging his persona's shoulders.

"Take a look at the scroll. It'll interest you. I bet you'll recognize the signature at the bottom."

Would that make him get his ass out of Sasuke's cell?! Turning his head round, he made his neck crack. And opened the damn scroll. With one hand, just to mention that charming point. Had taught him that the only thing you got when you tried to save the world was a chopped-off arm and a life-sentence in the equivalent in humidity of a swamp.

Yeah, well, Sasuke sucked at _kanji_. But not to the point of not recognizing Danzō's fucking signature. Kakashi saw the immediate reaction. At once, the Uchiha's shoulders tensed. His eyes, ever so adapted to the dark, frenetically scanned the scroll.

He saw the mention of another name, he believed, but he could not make out what it was. As said, he sucked at _kanji_. A small tremor shook his cheek however. The very mention of Danzō usually had such an effect on him.

"What the fuck is this?"

Sasuke's voice had become so deep that Kakashi felt the question more than he heard it. A small smile tugged at Anko's lips. If that old piece of shit Danzō still had enough influence on the Avenger, Kakashi had a good chance at making closing that deal.

"A very compromising document, that's what it is. Somewhat of a binding agreement between the Hyūga and _Konoha_. Made by none other than Danzō on behalf of the village. Remember him?"

Oh, Sasuke remembered. He just couldn't see why the fuck he would want to know anything about the deals between Danzō and some cocksucker clan. He couldn't give less of a shit to be honest. And his former _sensei_ could see the sardonic indifference that settled in at the mention of the Hyūga.

"And what is it to me?", Sasuke spat in contempt.

"I don't know. I just thought it would interest you to know that three days before your clan was reduced to ashes by your brother, Danzō had signed an agreement transferring all counterespionage and intelligence duties to the Hyūga clan. But maybe I was wrong, ah?"

At that point, Sasuke had stopped breathing for a split of an instant. Forgetting all about it actually. Three days before the Uchiha clan had been wiped off of the surface of the earth, Danzō had been drafting mundane agreements. As if nothing was bound to happen. As if it just was business as usual.

Kakashi noticed Sasuke hadn't grasped the gist of what he was implying. He hadn't expected for the lightbulb to just go off. He could imagine the boy didn't know jack about the Uchiha's place in _Konoha_ 's military community. Sure, they had been in charge of the Police. Keeping peace and all that uninteresting BS that couldn't have satisfied a prolific clan as the Uchiha.

"You'll admit it is interesting that all the _ANBU_ in the counterespionage and intelligence unit were Uchiha. And overnight got replaced by Hyūga. What is even more fascinating is the fact that this document exists. Danzō wasn't the type to leave sloppy traces behind. Or to be coerced into doing something. But here you have his signature, his promise that the Hyūga would get the prime of anything that happened in the world. They must have had one hell of a stronghold on his balls. Wonder why?"

Sasuke became still to the point Kakashi wondered whether he hadn't just sustained a heart attack and died. Remaining in a seating position. So, if he poked the little piece of shit, would he just fall to his side? He could've tried, for sure. Just that Kakashi didn't have that much of a death wish, to be honest.

That scroll didn't mean a shit. It didn't mean anything. Was Sasuke trying to convince himself? Danzō had decided to wipe the Uchiha clan off the surface of the earth using Itachi as his scapebitch. And obviously, the disappearance of a few hundreds of souls would leave big shoes to fill in. He couldn't have handed down the duty of snooping around to the likes of Akimichi, obviously. The Hyūga had the _Byakugan_. Sasuke didn't know much about the crap, but he could very well imagine it did the job where spying was concerned.

Kakashi followed the Uchiha's train of thoughts on his face. A rapid flare of the brow at the realization of what Kakashi implied. A tightening of the lips at the thought of what happened to his clan. And unclenching of his teeth when he succeed at making himself believe there was nothing to that document he was holding in his remaining hand.

"Yeah, you are right. That document only goes to prove the Hyūga and Danzō had a close relationship. Close enough for him to entrust them with the task of spying on behalf of the village. He must have believed them to be more _trustworthy_ than other clans, surely. Doesn't seem they had the same opinion about him, since they got him to sign a binding agreement."

That _trustworthy_ had been dripping with sarcasm.

"I would personally trust any clan that has been as intimate with the Senju as the Hyūga. They always knew how to give such excellent advice to all of _Konoha_ 's great ones."

A sneering woman was a sight to behold. What the fuck had crept up Kakashi's ass?! He sure as fuck didn't seem to like the Hyūga. Did Sasuke really care? How about: fuck no?!

Dropping the scroll onto the moist ground of the cell (the shit was clean, he'd passed a broom; yessum, Sasuke demanded to have a broom at hand whenever he wished, he would not live in filth, thanks), he passed his palm over his eyes, massaging at them energetically.

"Just get your fucking ass out of here."

Uchiha Sasuke in all his glory. Kakashi hadn't expected anything better, honestly. Just that if anyone thought that was all the _Hōkage_ got up his sleeve, they were heading for a great disappointment. You didn't become _Hōkage_ by simply stealing some documents from the most dangerous clan in the world. Because that shit hadn't surely come from Danzō's villa, duh.

And ok, Kakashi hadn't exactly been the one to steal it. You did not simply steal from the Hyūga. Even when you were a Hyūga. That's what their mole had learned during the war. When he had been miraculously disposed of in an intricate setup. Those fuckers were theatrical. And cunning. No one had seen through it. It had taken Kakashi himself a while, and a lot of snooping around, to realize that the numbers hadn't added up where Hyūga Neji had been concerned.

All that to say, there was some more shit to his _show-and-tell_ routine. Anko's hands disappearing under the lapels of her heavy coat, Kakashi blindly groped about until he felt what he had sewn into the lining. In a swift movement, at either side of the woman's ribs, a faint ripping sound was heard and two envelopes, retrieved. Generally, _shinobi_ communicated by written through scrolls. These envelopes, letters and all the ceremony surrounding them were an anachronism reminding certain higher-ranking clans that once they had been _samurai_. That once, so long ago, they had held honor above anything else.

Sasuke's attention was piqued, to Kakashi's relief (even though he would never have admitted he had doubted himself to the point of feeling worried). One envelope had been made of a fragile paper that, through the years, had taken a yellowish hue. That envelope, and the letter inside of it, had been made to be destroyed shortly after reception. The other one however was of a stunning white. And of a sturdy appearance. It had been meant to last. Both had been opened at some point in time.

"You want to read yourself a bed-time story, ah, Uchiha?", the woman in front of him purred into the air, before carefully placing one envelope in equilibrium on her knee.

Turning the remaining, yellowish envelope, Kakashi obviously wanted Sasuke to take a good look at the recipient's name. Yeah, well, he could recognize the _kanji_ for Hyūga now. But that other name following didn't ring a fucking bell.

"Addressed to Hyūga Hiruka. The former leader of the Hyūga clan. Strange anachronism since at the time this letter was written, Hyūga Hiruka hadn't been leader of the clan for years. However, as is often the case with powerful clans, he did retain an enviable position in the administration of clan affairs. Then again, one wouldn't be writing to him surely. At least not for a matter of importance, hmm?"

And just as carefully as he had placed the other envelope onto Anko's knee, he slid a small, translucent piece of paper out of the remaining one. Kakashi was focused on not ripping the letter as he unfolded it slowly. He couldn't wait to get the thing back where he could protect it. It was a goddamn collectible after all. That one time _Konoha_ succeeded in fucking over the Hyūga. But Kakashi could guarantee it would not be the last time.

Showing the contents of the letter to Sasuke, his entire mind was concentrated on reading his former pupil. On relishing color leaving his already pale face at the recognition of his father's writing. It was messy. And Sasuke clearly remembered his father's even, elegant hand. He must have been nervous when he had been writing that letter.

"Look at the date, Sasuke."

Two days before the massacre. The letter had been signed by Uchiha Fugaku's hand two days before the massacre.

Uchiha Fugaku had written to that Hyūga Hiruka guy. Sasuke's father, Sasuke's proud, haughty father, unwavering leader, cold ruler had stooped so low as to write to that man whom Sasuke had never even seen.

"Look to whom Danzō's scroll had been addressed to."

But he did not. His eyes remained fixed on the words of the letter. He did not have the strength, his mind running a thousand miles an hour, to make out each and every word. Yet, he understood the content. But one passage struck him.

 _And if this village succeeds in submitting one clan of worth and importance to its will, there will be no protection, no guarantee of it not doing so with all. In such circumstances, what are clan rivalries, what are petty disputes and disagreements? In such circumstances, there is nothing but equality and brotherhood. And should one not expect a brother's helping hand in facing so cunning an enemy?_

A lump appeared at the base of Sasuke's throat. He was aware his father had known. He was aware he had prepared. But could not have imagined where the blow would come from. What he had however never known was that he had begged, begged like a dog, fallen onto his knees in front of anyone. Bile rushed back into his mouth and he did his best to swallow it. One did not know what pain was before beholding such complete and utter demise. Pain was not loss. Pain was _humiliation_.

"Look to whom Danzō's scroll had been addressed to", the woman in front of him prompted Sasuke urgently.

Mechanically his fingers curled over the scroll once again. In one flick of the wrist, the thing rolled up and locked closed. Slowly, his now wide eyes slid to the lock on the scroll. He could easily recognize the _kanji_ on it now.

Hyūga.

Hiruka.

"Your father's pride has precipitated your clan to its downfall. Why write to this man who was not even the leader of the clan, tell me, Sasuke? Because he was the true leader in the shadows? Because he had more power to bestow? Uchiha Fugaku knew of the strain between Hyūga Hiruka and his leading son. He knew better than anyone that he was gambling sending this letter to that decrepit piece of fucking shit. While he had a sure race horse right at hand. Had he send this letter to Hyūga Hiashi, he would have been sure to receive reinforcements, if only for the pleasure the Hyūga leader would have felt at your father's begging. Three Hyūga men would have been enough, Sasuke, to, if not neutralize Itachi, at least make such a fucking mess that even the _Sandaime_ would have seen it and been forced acting on it."

Yeah, he was finally getting it, Kakashi could see. It was time to wake Uchiha Sasuke up from his deep slumber. Three men, well-chosen would have been more than enough. And Kakashi knew very well who those three men would have been. Young at the time. Idealistic. Blindly loyal to their leader.

Hyūga Hoheto, experienced _shinobi_ , with a fast mind and a good knowledge of them dangerous criminals. Hyūga Iroha, so sceptical as to be impervious to _genjutsu_ and as cool as an iceberg. And Hyūga Kō, the _Bunke_ dog, the head of the Hyūga Internal Security Squad who would have secured the perimeter so well that not even the great Uchiha Itachi would have penetrated it with ease.

"But no. Not Uchiha Fugaku. He hated Hyūga Hiashi from the first day they had met at the academy, decades before. Everyone knew so. He had preferred to see his clan reduced to rubbles rather than ask _him_ for help. He had preferred to turn to a man who barely a day before had struck a deal with none other than Danzō. A deal that would ensure the Hyūga would take over all of your family's positions of power in the village. Obviously, _tou-san_ hadn't known as much."

Anko's eyes, that had never held any light in them, one of Orochimaru's heirlooms, glistened dangerously. A strange feeling slithered into Kakashi's soul. Was this what they had all felt? What Danzō, Orochimaru and the likes of them had felt? Or maybe the Senju, the Sarutobi? He did not know. He did not know that this sensation warm and cold, numbing and all-conquering was a drug. And that in the end, the only ones that would be able relate to him were the members of the very clan he so desperately wanted to neutralize.

"That Hyūga Hiruka is a sight to behold, really. Something else. Your parents hadn't even started rigidifying that the asshole had his lawyers planted right in Hiruzen's office. Pulling out laws from hundreds of years ago regulating how much territory a clan can have. Arguing that since the Uchiha clan did not exist anymore, all of its arable soil and training grounds away from _Konoha_ 's outskirts were open to speculation. They got it all, Sasuke. All of it, goddammit. It was hilarious. You were there, lying in foetal position, a few feet from your parents' lifeless bodies. While the Hyūga were looting your inheritance. Mind you, you should say thanks to good, old _Sandaime_. He succeeded in finding a way to keep them out of the Uchiha compound. They wanted that too."

Kakashi knew he was walking the line separating man and husk of flesh. He knew he was standing on that blurry frontier. And yet, he could not back down. He could not let humanity overpower him at that instant. When he was so close. He was not a _sensei_ anymore. He was not a Obito's teammate and friend. He was _Hōkage_. A position that held no true honor to it. Whatever the likes of Uzumaki Naruto might have thought.

"Should've seen Hiashi's face when the _daimyō_ congratulated him for his good luck. How had he put it, again? _The sun only rises on the East because the Hyūga mercifully chose to install themselves there_. The almighty Hyūga leader hadn't even known he'd just been shafted by his own father. Funny, ah, Sasuke? This being said, I cannot imagine him complaining all that much at the thought of all the _Kusa_ territory he just got for cheap."

What was he doing?! What was Kakashi doing?! He who had always stood tall and righteous. Selling his honor, his pride off. What for?! For _Konoha_? For the world? Was it truly for the good of all that he was doing it? Or was it a personal revenge? The knowledge that he would never be free unless …

Pedantic as he had always been, Kakashi carefully folded the fragile letter paper back into its envelope, hiding it once again under the folds of Anko's coat. Picking up the sturdier one, he was not as careful as he retrieved that letter. Indifferently, he simply turned it towards Sasuke. Whose eyes slowly lifted from the scroll and, instead of reading what was written on that new letter, pinned Kakashi with a surprised glance. There was no hatred in those obsidian eyes. There was no fire. Only … fear?

Kakashi stopped breathing for a split of an instant. Sasuke, it was Sasuke he was kneeling in front of. Not the Avenger. Sasuke, the boy that had ranked barely above Hyūga Hinata in self-assertiveness. The same boy, Sasuke himself had believed was dead and buried. Well, he was proven wrong.

The few shards of him remaining in that strong, athletic body had swam to the surface and were lifting a hand through the murky waters of all his nightmares. Kakashi should have grasped that hand. He should have pulled Sasuke out of those delusions. Thrown his arms around that boy that had known no family. That had thrown himself at Orochimaru, the _Akatsuki_ , Madara in the belief that power would numb the pain.

Kakashi did not realize that that hand, that desire to bring Sasuke to his heart as a father would have, were his last shots at salvation. And he hesitated. Too late, however. Sasuke's eyes slid to the letter. Signed by Hyūga Hiruka on the very day of the massacre. And the words he read pulled the child in him right back down into the abysses of all his nightmares, letting the monster immerge. Sealing Kakashi's fate.

The true Savior offers His hand to the deformed monster with the same love as to the beautiful child.

Kakashi was no savior. He had stepped into a no-man's land. By one kiss of destiny, he had been transformed from man into husk of flesh.

 _You reap what you sow_.

The words written by Hyūga Hiruka. Addressed to Uchiha Fugaku.

Kakashi did not feel his lips parting again. He did not even hear his own words.

"All these documents were recuperated in Hyūga Hiruka's own chambers. However, this letter is covered in Uchiha Fugaku's fingerprints. In fact, the only fingerprints ever found on it were those of your father and Hyūga Hiruka. It had never been passed around to other members of the Hyūga clan. Or at least, those having touched it were careful enough not to leave traces. Looking through the inventory made after the Uchiha clan massacre, there are no traces of recuperated correspondence between the Uchiha and Hyūga clan. Therefore, a Hyūga had come to pick it up before the arrival of _Konoha_ 's forces at the scene. Since the massacre and _Konoha_ 's appearance almost coincided, it is to be taken into account that your brother and that Hyūga were in the compound at the same time. Do you fucking get it now, Sasuke?!"

Anko's eyes blazing as those of a religious fanatic, she daringly leaned in, ignoring how distorted Uchiha Sasuke's features were, filled with that hatred that had been his trademark, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer, mocking himself at his naivety. Her cool breath fanned over his lips as she whispered enticing ideas to him.

"Kill him, Sasuke. Avenge your family. Get rid of Hyūga Hiruka. Wipe your father's humiliation away with his blood. And I will let you leave. July seventh. The _Tanabata_ festival. Hyūga do not worship stars. He will be in the compound. The security in the village will be enhanced. But tourists will be flooding, you'll easily pass unnoticed. It won't be the first time you do something like this. Come to me. I'll show you where to find him. Set Itachi's soul free. Finally."

Later, as they saw Mitarashi Anko emerging from the Uchiha's cell, the _ANBU_ shifted uncomfortably. Looking up at them, an indifferent glow seeping through her eyes, a certain weariness settled in.

"He attacked me. And yet, you did not intervene."

The guard that had waited for her nervously tapped his foot on the stones of the flooring. One of the _ANBU_ , the most courageous, obviously gave an answer that could have cost him his head.

"You didn't holler."

Standing up, she blinked at them. A small tug at the corner of her lips made a smirk appear. Yeah, well …

"Fair enough."

Turning on her heels, she did not wait for the guard that had got her there to show her the way back. In that weariness she was feeling, there was a peculiar calmness. No more strange upheavals, no more unruly emotions. No more unnecessary scruples that made her loins contort and her hand tremble.

How easy it was to step over that imaginary, that faint, that blurry line separating man and husk of flesh. Hyūga Hiruka had to disappear, yes. But not just Hyūga Hiruka. Hyūga in general. From the oldest patriarch to that babe in a Hyūga woman's womb. Uchiha Sasuke had always seen himself as a great liberator. And Kakashi would give him the honor of liberating _Konoha_ from its slavery.

The last thought in Anko's head before she departed, droplets of rain whipping her face, was how to explain to the real Anko why the lining of her coat was ripped. She better think of a story. Something to do with the _Hōkage_ 's sexual perversions. That would keep the real her from overthinking too much. Who knew, maybe the _Hōkage_ would even get down and dirty with her because of so little.


	2. Pure-blooded Horse

**[A/N] For all those that worried this wouldn't be SasuHina, refer to the characters in the summary of the fic. Sasuke and Hinata are a couple. Just that senseless romance is not my cup of tea. Clan politics and adventures sure as heck are, however.**

 **Very slow chapter. We know where Sasuke is. Now, we'll see where Hinata is. Next chapter will be more Konoha and Tokuma-centric.**

 **A special thanks to Medlock, Guest, Boulevard, Butil and Hime. The first 5 reviews of TPW. You have no idea what it means to me. And of course, many thanks to the people that follow and favorite. At the end of the day, I only stick around this site and write to give you guys joy.**

 **The Pride of the Wounded**

 _Chapter 2_

Pure-blooded Horse

 _By_

 _Voyna_

She'd still not gotten rid of that habit of hunching low on her knees. It made his eye twitch as he shifted all his strength into the handle of his sword. It was a question of speed. He had a chance at destabilizing her by pushing down on her own _katana_. Making it slip from her fingers. He wanted to prove her, prove her only once, that straining her knees as hard as she did was a double-edged sword (oh, the irony).

No. He knew that wasn't exactly what he desired. Catching her glance from behind a row of thick dark eyelashes, he knew he didn't just want to teach her a lesson.

And so, she taught him one. Swiftly sliding on her _tabi_ , lowering her stance to the point her right knee swept over the _tatami_ flooring, she let the blade of his _katana_ slide over hers. She did not resist his force; she gave in to his strength. And used it against him. Her knee on the ground became a pivot. Her left shoulder a support for her right hand holding the sword from the top. Her left wrist was flexible enough and could take the abuse of being bent over. Droplets of sweat formed behind her black bangs. Slid into her eyes. Burning them. But she would not blink. As she felt his sword close to the edge of hers, lowering her left shoulder swiftly, she pulled her weapon away.

Too much force concentrated in one point could easily make one lose equilibrium. Okisuke knew as much. And yet, in his wish to prove her again that she should not be relying so much on her flexibility, he had made a mistake himself. As he almost doubled over, part of him wondered whether she hadn't planned this for weeks. For weeks, she had let him criticize her stance without batting an eyelash. But without changing it either. He had brought her to her knees. Made her fall onto her back. Fly in the air when he was annoyed beyond the supportable by her stubbornness. But she had improved. And now, for a split of an instant, she had made him lose equilibrium.

Turning on her knee, she was up in an instant. Ready to desperately defend her right shoulder. Because one could not expect Okisuke to be fazed for long. However, she had made her point. Flexibility and compliance could be as dangerous as brute force and rigidity. But, as said, Okisuke was something else. He, for one, understood that her main weakness were oblique attacks. She generally did not sustain well assaults aiming at more than one body part at the time. Hence, when aiming for her right shoulder, he did so with her left hip in mind.

Letting his hand sweep the floor and turning on his heels, he used the momentum to rapidly approach his _katana_ to her body. She knew she had to defend or else his blade would brush against the crook of her neck. Making a small, precise slash into her soft skin. She had to get back on her knee and raise her sword to meet his. As his bridled violet eyes shone, he realized how much he liked bringing her to her knees. He would have smiled at the thought had it been in his nature to show emotions.

She detested oblique attacks. The point of impact was always at an angle and unevenly stressed her wrists.

"You see", he whispered, leaning over and making her grit her teeth as the pain in her shaking elbows intensified.

"The stance that an instant ago had made your strength is now your weakness."

He did not say the full truth, he admitted it. Indeed, this stance of hers was a weakness. In this situation. And mostly because, even though she had surprisingly good technique for someone who had not been raised in _Tetsu no Kuni_ , she lacked in execution. She was quick-witted and seemed to have eyes that could see everything. He had never met someone that could so fully understand the essence of each and every movement. However, and it pained him greatly, for he had never met with a more eager pupil, she was a woman. And subject to all of woman's physical weaknesses.

He had been greatly against her being allowed to have her own _katana_. He already had been shocked when Mifune-sama had started training her roughly with a _bokken_. She had not been three years with them, and yet Mifune-sama had treated her from day one as a novice. Demanding that she submitted to the same ruthless training as all _samurai_. Okisuke had never minded seeing a _naginata_ between her fine, white fingers. The ease with which she wielded the scythe reassured him. She would be able to defend a household if need arose. And to keep all enemies from her body. The _naginata_ was generally a better defensive weapon than anything else.

He preferred not to let his thoughts wander. The images of her with a small knife, her hands swiftly moving about, pushing away imaginary adversaries, keeping them at bay and yet calling them closer so she could cut them had a way to confuse him. He was of a dignified nature that did not believe in unnecessary inner turmoil. And yet, ever since she had appeared, one cold, snowy night in Mifune-sama's house, Okisuke had started losing that control over his emotions that had always been his greatest pride.

His sensations at seeing her wielding a _kaiken_ were confounding. The images that her movements would elicit in a man's mind were to say the least erotic. However, the anger that bubbled up inside of him whenever she rolled about the _tatami_ , her legs around the hips of a man, her hands on his body, was not confounding in the least. Who had been the barbarian that had taught her _jūjutsu_?! She was without any doubt a greater adept of raw sparring. How easily she recognized all the vital points of one's body! He had to admit that he was not sure whether he would face her confidently if there were no weapons between them. For having seen her easily disposing of opponents twice her size, he knew she must have spent grueling hours training in a discipline that did not become a woman. And that clashed so strangely with her natural shyness and modesty.

For a split of an instant, he got lost in the midst of her brown, velvety eyes. Devoid of a pupil. Like his own. Bordered by thick, long black eyelashes. So big. And yet, sleepy. There was something languid, slow and elegant about her. And sad. Deeply sad. It attracted him further. Boisterous joy made a woman look dimwitted. Self-conscious aloofness made her uninteresting and plain, as beautiful as she might have been.

He had to focus on the matter at hand, however.

"Trying to exploit your small stature by keeping your stance low is cunning. By the time my _katana_ reaches yours, I have spent a lot of my strength in the endeavour, indeed. However, you have limited your own range of movements. Execution is still your weakness. Learn to keep the stances I teach you. No one expects for you to innovate."

The last sentence had been spoken with a trenchant undertone. And made her blush immediately. No one had ever expected her to innovate. Yet, at times, even _she_ had shone. However, there was no one to appreciate it anymore. The thought made her turn her eyes away. Okisuke mistook the reluctance to hold his stare for shame.

Removing his blade from hers, he took a step back.

"Enough for tonight."

She had always known him to be curt and serious. In these treacherous moments of calm, she felt like nothing had changed between the two of them. She could almost be lulled into appreciating his presence again. If she did not pay heed, she would end up asking, as she had so many times whether he wished an indulgence of poetry. He had always liked her to retrieve some of the books she had brought with her and read him poems like the _Iroha no Hoheto_. A solemn and beautiful poem about the ephemeral and deceptive essence of life.

However, whenever she read it, there was a playful edge to her voice she did not hear. And it was that playfulness in her that had made that very poem a favorite with Okisuke. Little did he know that she had been acquainted with a certain Iroha and that a certain Hoheto was her _otō_ -san's most valued advisor. Iroha-san, skeptical and sardonic as he was, was the last person she would have associated with the deceptive essence of life. He sturdily believed that the rock he wished to chuck at her father's head at times was hard. And that it would earn anyone who annoyed him a good bump on the forehead. Hoheto-san on the other hand would never be able to grasp how ephemeral a being he was. Walking around, his chest bulging forward, he resembled a peacock, full of himself and quite convinced of being eternal. The irony of the situation had a way of making her miss her family less. Though even her tender feelings were hampered in expressing themselves by the legendary Hyūga coldness.

She straightened. Lifting one leg, bending it in the knee. Doing the same with the other. Under Okisuke's best _told-you-so_ glare. He had told her numerous times she was harming her joints. He wondered whether she would listen this time. Why did he doubt it?! Extending a hand, he motioned towards her _katana_. She handed it over, still not meeting his eye.

Heading down Mifune-sama's _dōjō_ , Okisuke hung the swords on the wall, handling them almost religiously. However, from the corner of the eye, he never let her leave his sight. He devoured each and every one of her movements. He envied the droplet of sweat that rolled down the side of her thin, white neck, before being engulfed by the lapels of the black _keikogi_ she was wearing.

In a nervous, annoyed motion, she lifted her hand, a heavy sleeve opening around her forearm. As she passed her fingers through her high ponytail, he got a glimpse of her ribs and the bandages that covered her breasts. Forgetting his presence for a split of an instant, her fingers slipped past the fabric hiding her chest, disappeared into its darkness and retrieved a small, wooden flask. Swiftly, the cap on it was removed. She threw her head back and a few droplets of a clear liquid left the flask and dropped onto her right eye. She moved the flask to her left eye and repeated the operation. Keeping her eyes turned towards the wooden beams covering the ceiling, she closed the flask and made it disappear again. He examined her massaging her eyelids carefully. She had fragile eyes that got dry ever so often and were rarely but red.

There was something painful in her desperate attempts to conceal her fragility. In her hungry efforts to make herself seem strong and unyielding. But however desperate she might have been, she remained elegant and dignified. It pleased him. After all, strength was not the absence of weaknesses. It was the capacity one had to make others believe he were stronger than he truly was.

Okisuke stalked back to her. Saw her shoulders tense. Yes, those were her new reactions to him. However, he did no regret what he had offered. He was not a man to do anything half-heartedly or to be afraid of failure. Or to accept being rejected easily.

Respectfully bowing to him, she parted the lips she liked to keep closed. Her words were always spoken hesitantly and her voice timorous. He would have wished more self-assurance. Especially if she gave herself the right to aggravate him with her stubbornness.

"Thank you for your g-guidance, Okisuke-san."

That stutter. He decided against demanding that she repeated. It was his habit to make her repeat herself until he deemed whatever she was saying satisfying. He could not bear such a defect as was stuttering in such a woman as she was.

Thinking he would not detain her any longer, she turned around and believed herself to be excused from his presence. But before she could take a step forward, Okisuke's hand shot out and grabbed onto her elbow, effectively making her spin on her heels so she was facing him again. It had taken her by surprise. He generally liked to keep a distance between them whenever he was teaching her. But now, he invaded her private space. Getting closer. And closer. His eyes bore into hers and for a split of an instant, she had the impression her body was not her own.

Ever since she had started living among the _samurai_ , she had learned that there was something stronger than _chakra_ , something greater than power, something more astounding than prowess. Discipline. Honor. Hard work. Concepts that she had been born with. Concepts that had beat hard in her bosom. But that throughout her education she had been stripped from. And there stood Okisuke, towering over her. The stern fleshly incarnation of everything that was great in the _bushidō_.

His body had never been wrecked by the violent emotions that had driven her to insanity. His brow had never creased. His mouth had never expressed anything but a deep indifference to life. So she believed at least. And it is as such that she envied him. One day, he would depart this world standing tall, looking serene and willing to walk that new path. She on the other hand would see her soul imprisoned by her earthly sins. It would never leave the cold, hard, black soil of _Tetsu no Kuni_. Though his eyes told her otherwise. They spoke to her. They told her she too could be free, could be at peace. The only thing she would have to do was to abandon herself to his care.

"Is it the age difference?", he whispered in his deep voice that reverberated throughout her body, making a creak in the midst of her chest widen.

She was twenty years old. The eyes of Mifune's men when they came to hold council with him travelling over her body reminded her of those curves she detested. Of that womanhood she despised. But Kotori-san always spoke of her youthful features, of her small lips, her tiny nose and her big, baby-like eyes. When the woman's old hands caressed her head, she always told her no one would have thought her older than fifteen.

Okisuke-san had a fine, pale skin that showed no wrinkles. Not around the eyes, not around the mouth, not on the forehead. A long, narrow nose, trenchant and stern. To her surprise, he had no eyelashes or eyebrows. Nor any hair. Had he lost them after a violent shock? That had also transformed him into an utterly composed and unfazed man? On the left side of his head, a green dragon had been tattooed into his flesh. It resembled the art of the _Han_ tribe of _Kusa no Kuni_. She knew so. _He_ , the very one whose memory had brought her to _Tetsu no Kuni_ , had had a teammate. A _Han_ orphan, a friend, who had shown her different _Han_ paintings. Truth was, one would have never given Okisuke-san more than thirty. And yet, he was much closer to her father's age than hers.

Was it the age difference? No. Where there was harmony between two souls, age did not signify.

He saw the answer in her eyes. No, she was not one to care for age. Or for appearance. And it made it all the more difficult for him to grasp where this stubborn rejection, this unyielding refusal came from. It made it feel like an insult to his character. Did she have anything to reproach him? If ever she wounded his honor with her tongue, he would have to kill her. Whether she were the _taisa_ 's grand-niece or not.

"I am unmarried and have no mistress", he hissed through clenched teeth.

He believed she thought him to be flighty. Or that he wanted to make her a second wife. If only he knew. The very thought of any man trying to make her a second wife would have brought a smile to her lips were the situation not so very serious. Were it not Okisuke-san whom she respected and admired greatly that was standing in front of her. The very proposal would have gotten any man a visit from members of her family. And the thought would never have crossed his mind again. But there was no place for mirth when those violet eyes held her captive.

Nonetheless, she knew an answer was expected. And she might have been soft by nature, but even she could feel irritated. This assault of his was more irritating to her than any lesson taught during one of their training sessions.

"No one's l-life to shorten on my b-behalf. I am grateful."

The answer, spoken in such a soft voice, did take him aback for a split of a second. She was not one to be disrespectful. However, the nervousness he could read in the curve of her full lips, the way her black brow flared and the imperceptible shake of her head made up for it. Men in _Tetsu_ desired women like her. Their eyes trailed down their spines, resting a split to long on their backsides. Their glances were attracted towards their breasts. And their hands shook at the idea of sliding into the valleys of their waists. But when came the time to take a spouse, they preferred fragile orchids, fluttery butterflies and long bodies as supple as _bamboo_ branches. Because they believed it was easier to satisfy such a woman.

Okisuke on the other hand had, in his own cool way, an undying confidence in his eligibility. Even if, at times, she made him doubt. Again, to refer to herself she had used _yo_ like a lady. And whenever she did so, her neck bent and her face turned to the side as to shield it from unwanted and prying glances, he truly wondered whether she were not the long-lost lady of a faraway land. And then, logic settled in. She was nothing but a spoiled little girl that must have been indulged by her father and that needed but a good spanking to set things back on track.

When she did realize what had left her lips, she could not believe it herself. How had she dared! She recoiled on herself, blushing furiously and losing all her means.

He knew himself to be close. He knew he could submit her will to his. And she believed so too.

He was a man of few words. Active and yet, calm. She could indeed have had an enviable life with him. _Tetsu no Kuni_ was a plane of ice shaken by violent snowstorms. Rarely anyone, besides some merchants and some _hanamichi_ officials coming to buy girls, ventured into the land.

He would become _taisa_. It would be a match below her, indeed. However, her father was eager to get rid of her, whatever he might have said. Or thought. She would have her own house. Would live in a town thousands of kilometers away from _Konoha_. Would have her own children to rear. And all of her family's speculations concerning her person would come to an end.

She would become everything she had always detested. A wife whose only identity was the one she shared with her husband. Whose only duty was to keep house. Rear children. She would become a slave like her mother had been.

And yet, as the darkness behind Okisuke's eyes seeped through and into her soul, she almost heard the decisive _yes_ leave her lips. However, she was saved by the ominous sound of a guillotine being lowered onto a fragile neck, offering itself with abandon to death. Someone had suddenly made the _shōji_ leading to the _dōjō_ slide open. Okisuke immediately let go of her arm, damning whomever it was that had interrupted them.

Stepping away, he turned his head to the side. And beheld an old woman. Her features which had never held any beauty were wrinkled. Her head shook slightly. However, there was nothing fragile about her. Nothing at all. She was in her eighties and yet, she commanded a purely military respect. Of a small stature and as thin as a branch, she appeared dry. And her yellowish eyes, rapacious and cold as they examined Okisuke, confirmed it. Her grey hair was pulled into an austere bun on top of her head, not one stray strand caressing the side of her bony face. Her black _yukata_ was of a frightening neatness, mathematically oriented around her shoulders, its folds so perfectly placed as to never open around her ankles.

As she respectfully bowed her straight back, Okisuke swallowed his saliva. He tried to keep away from Kotori-san as much as possible. A woman who could silence Mifune-sama with one look of those bridled, yellow eyes, bordered by short, white eyelashes, was not to be taken lightly. Some lower-ranked _samurai_ liked to make jokes about her being the real _taisa_. Had they ever had the chance to be intimately acquainted with the couple the _taisa_ formed with his wife, they wouldn't have lightly thrown that idea about.

"Okisuke-san, _danna-sama_ is asking for you. Please, join him in his apartments."

She did not speak in an elderly voice either, even if calling Mifune-sama by the archaic _danna-sama_. Her peculiar choice of words was mostly meant to remind the two youngsters she was facing that she was of another era. And that as long as they were under her roof, they better consider twice what they were saying and doing.

Irritated and disappointed in a way only a _samurai_ could be, with a cold dignity, Okisuke stepped forward. Bowing swiftly to Kotori-san. And ignoring the young woman who had once again wounded his pride. As he walked out, the crease between Kotori-san's eyebrows disappeared and her mouth relaxed. It was all so very awkward. Having a young girl around so many men, coming in and out of their dwelling.

"Come, Hōryu-chan. I need help preparing the meal."

 _Hōryu_. What a strange name for a little girl. Kotori could not imagine what had crossed her mother's mind when she had named the poor little thing in such a fashion. Everyone stumbled over that _r_ sound. And yet, the old woman's dull, mathematical, not to say opportunist, materialist and sly, spirit was touched by this strange creature that Mifune had brought back, one stormy November evening.

The old woman had never seen a purple willow in her life, but at the soft elegance that had made Hōryu take small, silent steps through the narrow hallways of their house the first time she had walked them, Kotori had been sure the name suited the young woman.

She had fallen from the skies to land among that old, decrepit couple that was formed by the _taisa_ and his wife. Seventeen years too old. At least fifty years too late. And to be honest, the first three months had been pure torture for Kotori. Mifune had told her about some old acquaintance of his that had asked him to take in his daughter. Some soldier who had lost his wife and could not care for his seventeen-year old daughter appropriately. Kotori, frank and brutal as she was, had told Mifune that a father who had a seventeen-year old daughter he could not care for found a suitable, _single_ man that could.

Of course, unable to hold head to a woman who had made clear who led early on in their marriage, Mifune had admitted he had not asked for details. He had had a debt of honor towards the man in question and had taken in the girl without even wishing to know more. Kotori however was not of a quarrelsome nature, as direct as she might have been. And she was not devoid of compassion. Just that, daughter and wife of _samurai_ , she did not make a show of her feelings. Nonetheless, there had been something in those big brown eyes, sad and soft, that had called out to her. That had demanded Kotori.

After three months of time, seeing that the stomach of the newcomer did not distend in the least, that she did not appear to be losing weight and had no uncontrollable urge to rush to the garden now and again, run towards the wooden loo and vomit to her heart's content, Kotori put her biggest fears to rest. She was not pregnant. That much was obvious. And whether or not she had disgraced herself, in one way or another, did not interest Kotori in the least. Horrid traditions had a way to make for pragmatic people. And pragmatists wouldn't care for a small skin hidden more or less deep in a young woman's vagina. She was not pregnant, that was all that mattered, right?!

Indeed, she had not been pregnant. And Kotori would have never admitted that in her relief, there had been so much regret. So much regret.

Snapping out of her musings, the old lady shot a sideways look at the bent neck of the young woman that was following her, docile but blushing. There was nothing to be done but sigh. To Kotori, the situation was crystal-clear. Mifune however preferred to butter his eyes with mud and hum military songs rather than to acknowledge that they had a big problem on their hands.

Okisuke was determined. Hōryu was yielding unwillingly at each and every one of his attacks.

If the two elders meddled in favor of Okisuke, Kotori knew they would be signing the death sentence of Hōryu's peace of mind. Okisuke was a good man, a man of character and would make an ever greater _taisa_ than Mifune (read _Kotori_ ) had been. However, in his calmness, in that stiff self-control that was his greatest quality, there was too much authority. Great expectations for all those surrounding him made him a tyrant in his free time. And in his cold, lilac eyes, bridled and intelligent, there was an undying fire when they followed the sway of Hōryu's hips. A burning desire Kotori had never seen before but that she could easily read. The desire to submit, to possess. To break.

Early on, the young woman had proven to be of a great independence. But not the type of conceited independence that came from people that valued themselves a little too much. A type of resigned independence, stemming from the knowledge of being unwished for. Her long, black hair always veiling her face, she would silently march through their dwelling, going about her business. At moments, calm and pensive, she would lift her head, a faraway look in her dark eyes. Then, she reminded of a horse having smelled something new and curious, lifting its head and pondering what the novelty could be. Sometimes however, her brows flared, her mouth quivered at the corners, her whole body tensed. Worried nervousness. As if she expected someone would come to destroy this little bit of peace she had bloodily fought for. And finally, there were those nights. Those cursed nights when Mifune had to use all his strength to restrain Kotori. To hinder her from rushing to Hōryu, from sliding open the _shōji_ to the young woman's apartments and throwing herself at her. Bringing her beautiful head to her old, dry chest where still beat a strong heart.

It was only at night that Hōryu screamed, cried and begged. Called, called with all her soul for one that did not come. Neji. Neji. Neji. Over and over again. Begging not to be left behind. Who or what _Neji_ had been, Kotori did not know. The only thing she knew was that the memories that one word brought back to the young woman's mind would be the death of them. Hōryu always standing on the brink of insanity. And Kotori willing to follow her wherever she went. Even if it was to hell. Those violent screams made one think of the neighs of a raging horse, standing on its back-legs while its front-hoofs whipped the air menacingly.

Everything about Hōryu made one think of a pure-blooded horse abandoned by its herd.

Proud. Independent. And yet, fragile. Nervous. Shy. Always worried, ever so worried. Expecting the worst at every footstep. Her independence clashed with a frightening, an imperious need to be loved. And made for a creative spirit.

Every year, her family of which she never spoke, sent hundreds of music scores. She diligently practiced the _koto_. And as a rebellious child, always made time for her _shamisen_ , even though she knew Mifune did not regard the instrument with a good eye. Kotori loved it, however. She would make tea, step into the girl's room, seat herself, close her eyes and let Hōryu's voice transport her, transport her faraway, to unknown mountains. And then, the child would read poems to her. Her preference, a preference that spoke of a truly romantic spirit, laid with the _Han_ poets of _Kusa no Kuni_.

It is during those moments that Okisuke-san would come join them. Invite himself into Hōryu's apartments, seat himself by Kotori. His elbow on his raised knee, his chin on his palm, he would frown at hearing the young woman recite _Dù Fŭ_ 's _Jiā Rén_.

 _Who is lovelier than she?_

 _Yet she lives alone in an empty valley._

 _She tells me she came from a good family_

 _Which is humbled now into the dust._

 _When trouble arose in the Kuan district,_

 _Her brothers and close kin were killed._

 _What use were their high offices,_

 _Not even shielding their own lives? –_

 _The world has but scorn for adversity;_

 _Hope goes out, like the light of a candle._

 _Her husband, with a vagrant heart,_

 _Seeks a new face like a new piece of jade;_

 _And when morning-glories furl at night_

 _And mandarin-ducks lie side by side,_

 _All he can see is the smile of the new love,_

 _While the old love weeps unheard._

 _The brook was pure in its mountain source,_

 _But away from the mountain its waters darken._

 _Waiting for her maid to come from selling pearls_

 _For straw to cover the roof again,_

 _She picks a few flowers, no longer for her hair,_

 _And lets pine-needles fall through her fingers,_

 _And, forgetting her thin silk sleeve and the cold,_

 _She leans in the sunset by a tall bamboo._

To Kotori, a poem that rang true to the ear at the mention of fallen brothers. To Okisuke a warning, a premonition. A challenge. He was not a man, he knew, that would forsake an old for a new love. Simply because love was not something he tended towards. However, that sugary-sweet poem was always recited in a husky, urgent voice. It sounded insistent. She made loneliness appear in such a dark light that even his hand shook at the idea if ever laying itself on her. Whenever she chose to offer them a sad poem about a discarded woman of rank and beauty, she made Okisuke think of a horse tearing its reigns out of his grip.

But Okisuke, as the _samurai_ that he was, was an excellent horseman. And did not consider horse-training below him.

Preoccupied as both women were, their heads filled with thoughts about the same man, they barely realized they had reached the vestibule leading to the inner garden. The young woman had not changed, still dressed in her training garbs. And when the granny retrieved two padded _haori_ hanging from a nail, the one all in the household called Hōryu hesitated before taking the proffered piece of clothing.

"Don't you worry, Hō-chan. The older he gets the more he grumbles. It is so much like him to make a fuss about two old _haori_ he hasn't worn for twenty years."

The girl blushed. As was her habit. How long it had taken for her to get accustomed to that strange name. _Hōryu_. Purple willow. She still wondered, three years later, how her father had come up with it. For what she remembered, her mother had had a small purple willow, nothing like the big willow in the mansion's inner gardens. It had been a small, rachitic, ugly tree. _Mostly_. _Almost_ all-year long. However, it would bloom magnificently in spring. When the first green buds would sprout along the little tree's tortuous branches, her mother would never fail to call the little girl she had been to her apartments.

Tall and elegant, her mother would be sitting by the _shōji_ leading from her room to their house's inner garden. Her long black hair disordered and entangled from the sleep, there would be a strange halo surrounding her. At least, so she was remembered. A wonderful perfume of sandalwood, green tea and incense would linger in the air all about her.

She remembered how she would carefully step into the chambers, amazed, her small hand convulsively clutching Kō's, their attendant. How she would run towards her mother's open arms and bury her face into the crook of a soft white neck.

And then, the _shōji_ would slide open, revealing their ugly little tree, that ugly little tree her mother tended to as if it were her first-born. It would be all green!

' _Look, Hinata-chan! Hōryu-san is preparing to put on her pretty purple kimono._ '

' _Hōryu-san! P-Put it on quickly, please!_ '

Back in the days when she had been known as Hinata. When she had been small, blind and stupid. When her whole world had turned around her mother, Kō, her newborn sister … and her father.

Of course, as soon as her mother had died, her sister, a toddler that had had yet to learn to walk at that time, and herself had been forced to move into the mansion and cohabit with their father. A stern, taciturn man that had until then only been feared because of the gruelling trainings and frightening beatings he submitted her too. Later on, he had been feared as well for the cruel treatment he reserved for Kō, poor boy of untraceable birth. What vicious pain that of seeing her one and only comfort at that time rolled up on himself, lying on the floor and desperately hiding his head between his thin arms. And yet, he had served her father with a fanatic's loyalty. Her father had been Kō's Star of the evening and morning. Just as her mother had been the queen of his heart and she, his most precious treasure.

Soon, she had lost him. An up-and-coming young general, of modest birth himself but of great ambitions, had taken him under his care. Iroha-san might have been greatly uncreative; however he had always been a great judge of character. And had seen much of it in Kō. The one whose only desire by then had been to serve her well had started to climb the ladder to the top at a frightening speed. He had become in charge of the compound's security a few years later. The first bastard to ever do so. Just to give an idea of how important the position was, her uncle, her father's twin, had been in charge of it at some point in his life. Before he was executed for his corpse to be given away to _Kumogakure_ , that is.

By then, Hanabi, five years her junior, had already been given to the care of a nurse-maid. Natsu-san had at first sight given off an impression of good humor. But her antipathy towards Hinata had been enough to drive the then-six-year old away. The big, pink cheeks she had loved to kiss and that happy toothless grin that had enlightened her days had been taken away from her. And soon, Hanabi, joyful, talkative and a tidbit turbulent, had been replaced by a frightened, nervous little girl whose only desire had been to please a demanding father. It had been a question of life and death to her. Not to her older sister however. To an older sister who had loved her younger one to _death_.

Hinata, already abandoned to the scorn of a father who had little use for female children, a grandfather who believed her to be a cursed failure and a cousin who blamed her for the death of his own father, she had felt no hesitance in losing to a five-year younger Hanabi during a battle that would determine to whom the clan would eventually befall. Hanabi had had more _chakra_ and had been more talented where their family's arcanes were concerned. Her sister however had inherited their father and grandfather's shrewdness. A simple, well-placed sweep of her ankle under Hanabi's feet would have made the younger one stumble face-first. Their clan's weakness. The feet. However, it would have been a humiliation Hanabi would have never survived.

"Take it, girl!"

Kotori's stern, gruff voice made Hōryu snap out of her thoughts. Yes. There was no more Hinata. At least, not until her father found a good solution to the little problem an older unsealed daughter could be to a clan leader. And if he hadn't been able to decide on the right measures to take in the last three years, it was doubtful he would do so anytime soon. She could keep on playing the part of Hōryu. And enjoy the calm, snowy evenings by the side of her two elderly companions. Companions that strangely reminded her of her old team. A smile played on the young woman's lips as she softly removed Kotori's _haori_ from her wrinkled hands and held it up in a helpful gesture. The old lady shot her an irritated glance before sliding her thin arms into the coat. Kotori-san was very dignified in company. However, when they remained alone, she could be overbearing, demanding, a tidbit boastful and ever so active. Did that make her Inuzuka Kiba? And poor Mifune-san was left to bear the brunt of it. Calm, meditative, grudging and sedentary, he was not a man that liked to be uncomfortable in the privacy of his home. However, during the war, he had proven that in his late seventies he still was the greatest warrior in the world. This capacity he had to switch between passiveness and action would then make him Aburame Shino. And therefore, neutral presence between the two of them, little being that strangely found its place amongst them, was she.

These thoughts made her lose her smile as a cold, wintery wind slapped her across the face. Her eyes strayed towards Kotori-san's wrinkled hands. Her thin fingers were holding onto the doorframe, their joints sticking out worryingly.

" _Ōbā-san_ , how are your r-rheumatisms?"

The old woman's back tensed. There was no use lying, she knew. The girl read her like an open book. And yet, she still tried her luck.

"Do I look ill to you?", she snapped, attempting to discourage further discussion.

However, she felt the small body advance towards her and put a gentle, yet firm hand over her arm, prying it away from the doorframe.

"At least, s-stay inside, _ōbā-san_. Seat yourself away from t-the door so that the wind does not reach you. It will only m-make it worse. Leave the cooking to m-me."

A strange spam travelled through Kotori's arm. She'd experienced a similar sensation a few times already. And it occurred only whenever Hōryu touched her. As if a small electrical shock travelled from the surface of her skin to her nerves and made them react against her will. It was not a very pleasant feeling. Without realizing what she was doing, the old lady tore her arm away from the girl's grip.

The reflex of a worried animal. However, the young woman standing in front of her mistook it for one of disgust. A smile, small, apologetic, appeared on Hōryu's full lips as she took a step towards the veranda. Kotori would have wanted to keep her for an instant longer. To explain to her that whatever she had imagined was not in fact the truth. But she did not. She was daughter and wife of _samurai_. No one had ever taught her to acknowledge her feelings. And admitting how little she could ever be disgusted by _her_ Hōryu was nothing short of admitting affection and love towards this little stranger from nowhere.

Therefore, the old woman was only left to admire that supple young body bending over and retrieving a pair of _geta_ the veranda. Blowing the heavy snow into the air, the girl slid the sandals onto her impeccable white _tabi_. And in no time, she jumped down the veranda, the paleness of the skin on the nape of her neck shining in the darkness of the night. The wind whipped her skin, slithered through her collar and sleeves, made her shiver uncontrollably. She did not mind it. She loved being frozen. Frozen to the bone. The numbing pain that settled into her fingertips made everything so much easier. In such situations, she could play the _koto_ without remembering her sister's head appearing from behind the _shōji_ of her room back at the compound. She could write without imagining Neji's serious eyes trailing down the words she printed on fragile rice paper. She could read without yearning for the approving twinkle in her father's cold eyes scanning the title of the volume of her choice. When she was numbed frozen, she could function the best as Hōryu.

She approached the little fire in the middle of Mifune and Kotori's small garden. A dresser's wife that lived nearby had come to light it up and bring them fish. She'd also made perfumed rice. Kotori-san wasn't all that young anymore, unfortunately. And the couple's young protégée was so very strange that the dresser's wife preferred to lend them a hand here and there. It was a honor in its own way.

Opening a wooden box by the fire, she was impressed at the quality of the straps of salmon that had been kept cold on a bed of ice. Grey and plump, they would be quite delicious with some side dishes of _umeboshi_.

 _Tetsu no Kuni_ had but one river. A river with a soul as black as the devil's. And a heart of gold. In its heart, gold could indeed be found in industrial quantities. The very image of the crazed men that every spring came to Tetsu on their way to that damned _Yasei no Kawa_ appeared in front of Hōryu's eyes. And made yet another shiver, mingled with the shivers caused by the cold snowflakes that penetrated her clothes, travel down her spine.

That river … Men from all over the world came to _Tetsu no Kuni_ to try their luck at finding gold in its savage core of untameable water. It stole their eyes. Never gave them back. That river tried to kiss them all. And just like with Hinata, it sent a shiver down their spine. It was a wet golden shrine that tried to kill them all. And succeeded at it. They all wanted its gold. But the river … the river wanted their soul. Funny how _Yasei no Kawa_ was as full of gold as it was sterile of life. No fish to swim countercurrent, to surf on its violent waves of ice. Besides salmons. Only salmons were sturdy enough to survive in such an environment. And thus, the inhabitants of _Tetsu_ ate salmon. When they could afford it. That damned river was no kinder to fishers than it was to gold diggers.

Gold diggers. Greedy, envious most of the time. But also poor, hopeful, naïve at times. Which type was Okisuke, she wondered. Did he mistake her for a river full of gold?! Were he greedy and envious, he would have been more prepared. He would not have attacked her frontally. He would have _made love_ to her first. In the archaic sense of the expression. He would have brought her little trinkets, feigned interest in her daily vexations, recited poems to her. She knew because she had seen how Hoheto-san, the archetype of the greedy and envious gold digger, had seduced her aunt Fumichiyo. And then convinced her to elope with him, forcing her father and grandfather's hand. Her grandfather had been livid and would have rather seen his daughter (one of many) dead than given away to the likes of Hyūga Hoheto. Her father on the other hand had been more than happy to get rid of one of his half-sisters that were a bad influence on his younger daughter and generally too expensive to maintain. The two clan leaders had struck a deal that had made both of them happy. And poor Hoheto deeply unhappy. Hoheto would marry Fumichiyo, there was no doubting that! Just that she would bring no dowry to him. Greedy and envious gold diggers generally ended up in uncomfortable places. The corners of her mouth slightly pulled up.

The strap of salmon that the young woman carefully placed on a polished rock in the middle of the fire. With a pair of metallic chopsticks, she turned it around. And repeated the process a few times before retrieving it from the fire. And realizing she had not brought a recipient for the roasted fish.

"Silly girl", Kotori mouthed at her, towering over Hōryu with a bowl of fuming soy sauce in one hand and a plate in the other.

Hunching down, her old hips and back protesting through a series of crackles, Kotori motioned at the salmon strip with her bowl of soy. However, her young protégée would have none of that. Furrowing her brows, she shot a dirty glare at the wrinkled, slightly quivering hands holding the bowl.

"I told you to stay inside, _ōbā-san_."

Lifting a thin, white brow, the _ōbā-san_ wondered where obedience to their elders had gone with this new generation. Slowly sliding her fingers into her obi, she retrieved her own pair of metal chopsticks, as the young woman carefully dipped the piece of fish into her bowl of soy. Immediately, a thick fume escaped the bowl. Result of hot fish, warm soy and cold wind interacting. Before she could retrieve the strip imbibed in soy sauce, Hōryu felt something strong pinch her nose.

"Don't underestimate this old lady, girl. Where did respecting your elders go, ah?"

Before she could answer, Kotori twisted her chopstick and twisted the young woman's nose beyond the laws of physic.

" _Aiya_!"

As the little shriek of pain escaped her, she felt the pressure subside and her nose be released. Lifting her eyes grudgingly, she met Kotori's. They examined each other for a split of an instant. Both scorned women with their chins kicked high and their brows furrowed. Hōryu, had she been of a more vindictive nature, would have answered that she would be stuck to straighten her back for Kotori-san. And Kotori-san would have spoken of filial piety.

Extending her chopsticks, the old woman dignifiedly grabbed onto the fish submerged in soy sauce, removed it, in a stern movement of the wrist drained it, sending droplets of soy into the fire and slapped it onto the plate by her side. Never leaving the younger's eyes. Breaking eye contact and turning her head away, Hōryu did her best not to laugh out loud. Good thing she could not see the small smile that spread over wrinkled lips, it would have overpowered her. And all the solemnity around roasting fish would have evaporated in thin air.

Soon enough, they were all set to go serve the starving men that were desperately awaiting their meal. And moaning in anguish instead of drafting plans for the joint military exercises with _Hi no Kuni_. However, Hōryu would have rather avoided meeting up with Okisuke for a second time in the evening. Some women would have wanted to bring as much pain as possible to the heart of a man who loved (or who at least showed enough interest; if they could not wound his tender feelings, they could at least wound his pride). Her own feelings were too delicate to induce her to act in such a manner. And she was too proud herself to fall as low. Nonetheless, she stood up, retrieved the plate of fish by Kotori-san's side and offered her hand as support to the old lady. And surprisingly, Kotori did well, standing up. However, straightening her back proved to be more difficult. Cursing under her breath, she tore her hand away from the girl's and placed it on her lower back. Without looking up. A _told-you-so_ glower from one more than fifty years her junior would have been more than unwelcome.

They did however make it back into the house. Once the rice had been retrieved, the prickled prunes red as blood placed in a bowl and the salmon transferred onto the service plate, Hōryu was given the responsibility, to her great dislike, to bring it to the men, Kotori following close by with the _sake_. Nonetheless, when she got to Mifune-san's sitting room, as he liked to refer to the empty _tatami_ room he liked to spend his days in, she kneeled in front of the _shōji_. Scratched at it softly. And waited until the weary voice of a man seeped through the rice paper, inviting her in. In no time, the _shōji_ was slid aside, and she stood up. Small and fragile. But towering over the two men seated at a low table covered in papers.

"Took you enough time", an older man, wrinkled, the skin of his face covered in pale, brown marks, complained.

Not at the young woman, but at his old lady, standing erect and serious behind Hōryu. Kotori did not respond; just shot him a haughty and cold glance. They were an endearing old couple. Spending more time making each other's life miserable rather than comfortable and joyful. No one could have ever imagined them tender and loving towards each other. And strangely enough, both Okisuke and Hōryu looking at them snapping at each other day after day believed they would not have been happy had they been granted a calmer family life.

"Next time, you can make your own food", was the only acknowledgement of his complaint he would get. "If you don't push those papers aside, we'll just set table on them."

Nothing better than being respected in his own household. In a begrudging movement, the old man, helped by the younger one, did indeed take care to save his plans from his wife. Who would have most definitely placed the food on them. And used his masterpieces of genius to wipe the soy sauce from the corner of her lips. In no time, Hōryu came to him, seated herself by his left side, leaving the right to his wife, and placed the big plate on the table. In a hushed voice, avoiding the eyes of their guest, she whispered an apology to Mifune's ear. As Kotori sat herself by him, the desire he had to tell the girl not to worry, that he was used being mistreated by the likes of his old lady, disappeared from him and the words remained stuck in his throat. He snatched a cup from the smaller plate she had brought and waved it under her nose. But she ignored it willingly, and a small ferocious smile etched on her lips, she offered Okisuke a cup, before sipping an amber-colored liquid into it. He did not bring the cup to his lips directly. He had not expected for the _sake_ to be offered to him first. And certainly not by Kotori-san of all people. It went against customs. And made him wonder what the woman who was so adeptly avoiding his gaze might have told Mifune-sama's lady. Shooting a suspicious glare at the surface of the liquid in his cup, Okisuke wondered whether it wasn't actually poisoned.

Lifting his head for a split of an instant to gauge Kotori-san's mood, he met her yellow eyes staring at him while Mifune-sama, holding his cup, was shooting his wife a dirty glare. The elderly woman was taunting Okisuke. Testing him. Leaving him to wonder what was more dishonorable. Dying poisoned in his master and _taisa_ 's dwelling? Or bowing his head to an old woman that might not pass the winter? There was something to be said about pissing contests between younger men and elderly women, he thought as he downed his _sake_ in one slug. Gracefully placing his cup back onto the table, Okisuke grabbed onto the bottle Kotori-san had slipped from and motioning to her own cup with a poised movement of the head, he returned her favor. While Mifune-sama was still there, unattended, his cup empty and his presence ignored. And then, the world wondered why he preferred spending his days in insalubrious military caserns with young, unmarried _samurai_. Who generally were a sad sight to behold.

Leaning into the old man, her shoulder brushing against the sleeve of his _yukata_ , a strand of Hōryu's black hair caressed his old, wrinkled cheek. He was a man who had never known the douceur of holding his newborn's disproportionate head in his palm. Of seeing it taking its first steps. Holding between its minute fingers a wooden sword. Mifune would have not cared, as so many lucky fathers, whether it was a female or a male. He would have held it against his bosom, protected it from this world that was dark, unfair and bloody. It would have been his joy or pride. However, the gods had not seen it necessary to give him the possibility to sire children.

Many a man in his situation would have blamed their wife. Maybe taken a second spouse. Or a concubine. Mifune however had never been a coward. And he had not shied away from recognizing that Kotori was as healthy and fertile as any woman. And that she could have had children. Therefore, he had offered her early on in their marriage, seeing he was useless in the domain, the hand of a young warrior who had pledged allegiance to him and would have married her if such been Mifune's order. He had been more than willing to admit his shame and to let her depart with his subordinate in compensation. But his wife had never been of the same breed as other females. She had mockingly refused the hand of the young man Mifune had offered her. And when he had begged her to go, she had adamantly stayed. Now, one would have been in danger to believe Mifune better than he truly was. As Kotori had made her final decision to remain with him known, he had simply put a _katana_ under her throat and told that if she ever were unfaithful, he would slice her throat. And she had simply pushed back his wrist and languidly replied that if he were ever unfaithful himself, it wasn't his throat she would slice.

They could have adopted a child. However, orphans were rare in _Tetsu_. For the simple reason Mifune had done everything in his power to keep _Tetsu_ outside of petty shinobi skirmishes. And even if a child had the misfortune of losing its parents, there always were relatives to take the little one in, whether it be a boy or a girl. Hence, they lived their married life truly childless. Not a complaint, not a reproach, not a curse aimed at _karma_. Their resignation had been rewarded in the end. When a man whom Mifune had known and loved as a child, and despised and detested as an adult, had come to his door, hidden behind a heavy black cape, accompanied by at best the shadow of a dangerous bodyguard. Unwillingly, he had accepted a strange charge he had not known much about. Or wished to know, for that matter. When a whole country depended on the good-will of a man, or in _Tetsu no Kuni_ 's case, of a clan, there was no place for questions, for inquiries. Mifune had simply taken in that young girl none other than Hyūga Hiashi, a former pupil of his, had brought to him.

He had simply not expected to find her a sad, scared little thing. He'd never asked her what she was to the likes of Hyūga Hiashi. A shameful mistress? A bastard daughter? He had never asked her whether she was Hyūga herself. He had simply accepted the bottomless darkness of her eyes as a proof of the contrary. He had not asked, he had not questioned. He had simply mandated that she did not use _chakra_ if ever she were a _kunoichi_. She was to live among samurai, not cunning _shinobi_. And thus, she would be expected to act as daughters and wives of _samurai_ acted. Little had he expected she would be more elegant, more accomplished than daughter and wife of _daimyō_. And yet, her elegance was simple. And her accomplishments had been laid at Mifune and Kotori's feet. And suddenly, this girl they had mistaken for everything, ranging from a woman of low morals that had compromised a great leader to the unlawful daughter of a _daimyō_ had become the center of their universe. The two elders might have wished to keep away. But those sad dark eyes, always filled with tears and as if begging for nothing but a tender caress, had pulled them in.

Thus, the caress of a strand of black hair against his cheek had become enough for him to forgive decades of a sterile, childless life.

" _Ōjī-san_ , I should g-go prepare the bath for you."

Again, using the lady's _yo_ for _I_.

The murmur reached his ear. He decided against sternly scolding her for the stutter. Mostly because he was aware it would not have been agreeable to her to be scolded in front of Okisuke. Just looking at the two of them, at the desperate way she had to avoid his eye and at the more subtle way he had of trying to attract it, Mifune could imagine what had happened. Again. If only the girl could have been more honest with them so that he could have meddled in and told Okisuke to go look for a wife elsewhere.

Shooting a displeased look at her training garbs, Mifune let go of his poor, empty cup and grabbed onto a bowl of rice. With a pair of chopsticks, he grabbed a few pickled prunes he placed in the center of the bowl and finally chose the best strip of salmon, that he added to the meal. Picking the chopsticks into the rice in a military fashion that made his wife scowl, he handed the bowl to the young woman to his left.

"Take your bath first", was his simple reply.

She took the bowl, and in a very inelegant, movement scurried out of the room. More than happy to escape the heavy atmosphere around Okisuke-san. Okisuke whom Mifune was left to softsoap. As he had done previously with Hōryu, he permitted himself to choose the second-best strip of salmon for Okisuke. However, the boy was less compliant than the girl had been. He accepted the food with a few words of gratitude. Sipped Mifune-sama a cup of warm _sake_. And gave himself the right to give his piece of mind, his cold eyes never leaving his _taisa_ 's.

"You are too lenient where your grand-niece is concerned. She is prone to insubordination."

"She is but a child. And I doubt anyone would call any of the trainings she is submitted to as lenient."

"We are not talking about trainings, but about her conceited independence. She is twenty years old, Mifune-sama. Living in a country where the young stop being called children at the age of thirteen."

"Okisuke-san should take our Hōryu-chan as nothing more than an example of what his own daughters should not be", Kotori calmly interceded between the two men.

Okisuke could easily sway Mifune. That was a known fact. And she generally accepted it, knowing full well that whatever Okisuke did easily, she could undo just as easily. However, she did not appreciate this insinuation that there was anything to be desired in Hōryu's behavior. She might not have been as blind as many a mother concerning Hōryu's flaws, however she was quite sure there was nothing to be desired in her behavior, which was always perfect. The difference between Kotori and Okisuke's opinion of what was to be expected from the young girl relied in the fact that one viewed her as one views his own blood and flesh and the other … The other wanted to make her his own blood and flesh.

"I did not mean to offend", was the cold reply he served the both of them before thanking the woman of the household impersonally for the food.

It was with a certain ease, a good hour later, that Hōryu, hiding adroitly, in her hosts' bedchamber, heard the two elders making their way towards the inner-garden where a wooden bathtub (more along the lines of enormous eyesore of a reservoir) filled with hot water was waiting for them. There was something endearing at the thought two elderly people still took their bath together. In fact, it was intimate. It defied conventions. She knew no wife that was allowed to take a bath before her husband (let alone a young girl, before her elders). However, there was this pragmatism about Kotori that Mifune had no choice to embrace. Who would have washed his back and vice versa, if the two of them did not take their bath together?!

Seated in a corner, bringing her knees up to her chest, she rested her cheek on them. Three years. Three years already. Three years spent between the high ice walls of _Tetsu no Kuni_ , her mind left to auto-cannibalize itself. Left to be haunted by the memories of someone she had known. Of someone who had died. The strange fact about Hyūga Hinata was not the fact her father had woken her up in the middle of the night, handed her tinted contact lenses made of a hard plastic that hurt her eyes. Not the fact, Hyūga Kō, her Kō, had sneaked her out of the compound in a mission that would have made him ANBU _taisa_ had his low birth not crippled him as much outside as inside the compound. The strange fact wasn't even the horrid nightmares that plagued her and the impression, whenever she sat up, drenched in her sweat and fear reflected in her eyes, that Neji was seated in front of her, examining her, haunting her. No.

The strangeness of her life resided in the fact that all the violence she had experienced in twenty years of life, all the misery she had seen, all the losses she had sustained were leaving place to an illogical feeling. The illogical feeling of calmness and peace. Which was proper to all Hyūga. It had all to do with the _Byakugan_ and the biology of the Hyūga brain. The optical nerve was so strongly developed that other parts of the brain unconnected with it were primitive in comparison with the average human being. Hyūga experienced all emotions differently than their average counterparts. They felt love, anger, worry, desire. However, never did their feelings interfere with their responsiveness or concentration. In the middle of the day, when the brain was very active, a Hyūga could appear calm in the middle of a carnage. A Hyūga could easily take the decision to go into battle instants after having seen his partner or child mowed down. Without shedding a tear.

Night was another story, however. When the brain was in a state of repose, a strong enough stimulus such as long-lost memories could bring a rush of violent emotions to a Hyūga. Hence why all crimes, especially crimes of passion, occurred during the night between the high walls of the Hyūga compound.

All in all, even though Hinata felt an incessant worry for her sister, for her former sensei and her child, for her former teammates, for Kō, she lived a decently productive life in _Tetsu no Kuni_. Albeit her attachment to _Konoha_ was strong, she had started rebuilding her life … herself. She was becoming _Hōryu_. Fully, truly. It was in her plasticity that the strangeness lied. In this fact that the Hyūga, who appeared at first glance so very stagnant, attached to the point of obsessiveness to their traditions, were in fact the most adaptable class of humans. Yes, she was plagued by memories of her family and friends. But the world she lived in at the moment was satisfying enough for her regret not to interfere with her daily life. And if she had been given the choice between returning to _Konoha_ and remaining in _Tetsu no Kuni_ , she was not quite sure she would have chosen _Konoha_. Another characteristic proper to the Hyūga. Once they were moved in one direction, they never returned on their footsteps.

Such a turn of the mind, such a particular construction of the soul, would always be mistaken for cold-heartedness by those who did not understand the subtleties of the Hyūga soul. It was not insensitivity in them, but a greater resilience to the fluctuations of life.

The _shōji_ to her hosts' chamber was pushed aside and two bodies dressed in fresh _yukata_ came in. Holding hands affectionately. They had their heads turned to each other, their wrinkled faces split in calm, tender smiles. Hōryu lifted her head immediately, attracting attention to the corner she had huddled against. Both Mifune and Kotori jumped back in horror. They hoped the young girl had not had another one of her excruciating nightmares and had decided to come sleep with them. They indeed still considered her a child. However, she was too old to sleep with them. And to be honest, Mifune would have felt the need to sleep with his _katana_ were she to share their _futon_. For having felt the quantity of chakra that seeped through her own chambers whenever she had one of her crises, he would be too afraid of not waking up the next day to close an eye.

"Hō-chan …"

Innocently picking up the little cream pot by her side, the young woman threw it in the air before catching it again. She tilted her head to the side, looking innocently up at them. But the way she momentarily scrunched her pretty nose made her look more mischievous than she felt.

" _Ōbā-san, ōjī-san_. We need to take care of your rheumatism. Both of you, lay down on your stomach. And pull your yukata down to the waste."

The two elderly people blanched.

Yes, Hinata had adapted to her new surroundings. She had become part of them. And was content enough with them, even though her nights were restless and painful. She would not have exchanged them. And was willing to build upon them. However, with resilience came an unfortunate feature. Known as forgetfulness. Had she remembered the way her life had unfolded, as opposed to remembering certain occurrences of her life, she would have known that whenever she was ready to cautiously settle into a state of tranquility, something occurred to destabilize her.


End file.
